


Keep on Rollin' (Like a Stone)

by elizaye



Series: Just Give Me a Reason [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Betrayal, Birthday, Bottom Castiel, Courtship, Family, First Time, Fluff, Infidelity, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Castiel, Prequel, Protective Dean Winchester, Scents & Smells, Top Dean, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a redistribution of students places them in the same school, Dean and Castiel meet, fall in love, and choose to mate, determined to prove wrong all the people who warned them against taking a step so permanent at such a young age. At first, all seems well for the happy couple, but an unforeseen development may just prove the naysayers right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel for [Written in the Scars on Our Hearts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/914219/). I'd recommend reading that fic first, but there isn't really anything you need to know from it, coming into this one. I intend to update once a week, but it probably won't be on a regular schedule. We'll see.
> 
> Also, Merry Christmas! Hope you guys are enjoying your holidays:)
> 
> **You can keep up with my progress and/or thoughts about this fic by tracking the[pinkverse tag](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/pinkverse) on tumblr.**
> 
> ETA: This fic is tagged as "Underage" because Castiel starts the fic at age 15 (he turns 16 around chapter 3 or 4, can't remember which). In this 'verse, people are considered adults at age 16, so by those rules no underage sex occurs, but I figured I'd tag it to be safe.

The first day of senior year passes by kind of in a blur, the way the first day of the school year always does. Dean goes from class to class, sitting with the same set of faces in different combinations.

Over the summer, the school board authorized this “redrawing the district lines” thing because they wanted a more even distribution of alphas, betas, and omegas between the two high schools in the district, so Dean’s seen a lot of new kids wandering around. At least the board was kind enough to let seniors stay put, for the most part.

Senior year, though. Freakin’ _finally_. Dean’s always done well in school—the whole scholar-athlete type deal—but he’s so over all the drama, and really, he thinks he’d be fine with it if he could just skip this year and go straight into college, maybe meet some actually _mature_ people.

Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t be perfectly fine with it, because he’d miss Jo and Victor. Hardly any people end up going to college with their high school buddies. At least, that’s what he’s been told, and it seems true in their situation because Victor’s already pretty much set on going to community college and then becoming a cop, while Dean’s definitely going to a four-year school. He thinks he’s interested in business, but there’s plenty of time for that to change.

_Thunk!_

Dean’s head jerks forward slightly at the impact, and he twists around to see a rubber ball hit the ground behind his chair. He looks up to search for the culprit, but she isn’t hiding.

“Hey, don’t blame me. I musta called your name at least four times,” Jo says, catching the ball when it bounces back to her.

“She did,” Victor confirms helpfully. “I was standing right here.”

“You couldn’t just come over here and sit down like normal friends?” Dean says, rolling his eyes as Jo and Victor come to join him at his lunch table—Jo across from him and Victor to his right. “So, is Moseley letting you keep your spot on the debate team or not?”

“Yeah,” Victor replies, and Dean claps him on the back.

“See? Told you there was nothing to worry about,” Dean says. “It’s not like they could win without you.”

“Ex _cuse_ you. We’d do just fine without him,” Jo says.

“That certainly wasn’t what you were saying a few minutes ago,” Victor says, grinning.

Jo rolls her eyes. “That was me being an awesome friend. Not just anyone gets to be on the Speech and Debate team without being in the class. You should be grateful I was on your side. Missouri loves me. You’re like a six in her book, at most.”

“Okay, so I owe you one.”

“Yeah, that’s right you do,” Jo says. She pauses to take a bite of an apple, and then she says, “Oh my god, Dean, you were totally right about our government teacher—what was his name again?”

“Creaser,” Victor supplies.

“Yeah, him. Definitely a couple screws loose. Like who decided that _he_ could be a teacher?”

“Exactly,” Dean says. “Today he went from separation of powers to friggin’ King Kong. I can’t even remember how he got there.”

“Oh, joy,” Jo says—she and Victor are in sixth period government, so they still have to sit through an hour with Mr. Crazy.

Dean finishes his sandwich and balls up the sandwich bag, looking around for the nearest trashcan.

“Dean, I thought you were supposed to check on your brother or something,” Victor says, pulling his own sandwich out of a brown paper bag.

Dean’s first thought is that Sam is still in eighth grade, so he isn’t even on the same campus. But then he remembers the conversation he’d had with his mom about looking out for Adam, since he’s an omega at a new school. “Oh yeah,” he says. “Guess I should stop by.”

“Want me to come with?” Jo offers.

“Nah,” Dean says, getting to his feet. “I’ll be right back.” He drops his trash in the nearest bin, looking back and forth as he does to try and spot Adam.

Sam and Dean aren’t really close to their half-brother, to be honest. It feels a little too much like betrayal to be really nice to him, even if Mom says that it was a long time ago and that she’s never actually blamed Dad because they weren’t together at the time.

Still, even if the guy’s not related to them by name—his mom chose to give him her own last name, rather than make him a Winchester—he’s still their family by blood, so it’s only right for Dean to at least stop by and say hello, make sure he’s doing okay.

Dean eventually spots him across the cafeteria, seated at a long table with three other students whom Dean doesn’t think he’s seen before—they’re probably also transfer students. Adam is sitting beside a black kid who is substantially broader than him, enough that Dean would have missed Adam if he hadn’t been leaning forward in his seat. Across from the buff guy is a thin, redheaded girl, and all Dean can see of the fourth person is a tuft of dark hair.

Dean makes a bit of a circle to approach the table from behind the redhead and her dark-haired companion, the side where Adam will see him coming, and sure enough, Adam’s eyes land on him as he draws near.

“Dean,” Adam says, surprised, but Dean’s distracted by a new scent in the air, ridiculously easy for him to pick out from the mess of smells in the cafeteria. He can’t pinpoint what exactly it is just yet, but he already knows he wants more of it.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says distractedly, because apparently Adam’s been talking while he wasn’t listening. “What did you say?”

“I asked what you were doing here,” Adam says, frowning.

Dean pulls in another deep breath then, and the scent is so much stronger where he’s stopped. “I was just coming over to check on you,” he says, but he looks down and sees the source of that fast-addicting scent sitting right before him, twisted around in his seat to look up at him, and he sort of can’t look away.

It’s like being struck by lightning, being beaten over the head with a two-by-four, and all Dean can do is stand there and stare down at this guy. All that really registers with him is _omega_ and _male_ and _blue eyes_ , but none of it really matters because Dean’s getting fucking high off his scent, and just like that, he _knows_. He has no clue who this guy is, doesn’t know his name or how old he is—whether or not he’s even freaking _legal_ —but already there’s no doubt in Dean’s mind that this kid with blue eyes and dark hair is _his_.

Adam’s voice pierces through the haze—“Dude, what the hell? You okay?”

Dean blinks a couple times in quick succession and says, “Yeah, ‘m fine. Sorry. Who are your friends?”

“Uriel, Anna, and Cas,” Adam responds, gesturing first to the black guy, then to the redhead, and finally to blue-eyes. “Guys, this is Dean.”

“Nice to meet you,” Anna says. “Adam doesn’t really talk about you or Sam much.”

“Yeah, we’re not exactly what you’d call close, but we’re still family,” Dean says, managing to keep his eyes on Anna.

She’s pretty, objectively speaking, and maybe five minutes ago Dean would have thought about giving it a shot, despite the fact that she’s definitely an alpha, but fuck, he doesn’t want anyone who’s not Cas.

There’s a brief silence, and then Dean drops into the vacant seat next to Cas and says, “Mind if I join you?”

“Uh… look, Dean, no offense, but we’re not exactly friends,” Adam says. “I’m fine, so you don’t have to… to do me any favors, or anything.”

“Well hey, we’re coming to the same school now, so we’ll see each other around a bit more—wouldn’t hurt to be friends, anyway,” Dean says. “Are you all sophomores, then?”

“No. Cas, Uriel, and I are actually juniors,” Anna says.

That’s good, because it means Cas is one year closer to being legal, potentially—most people turn sixteen in junior year. “Oh, okay,” Dean says. “How’d you guys meet Adam?”

“Dean, can you not—” Adam starts.

“Adam, it’s fine,” Anna says. “I think it’s good for you guys to get to know each other a little better.”

“What you think doesn’t matter. Adam’s opinion is what counts,” Uriel says gruffly, and when he looks at Dean, his expression is decidedly unfriendly.

But god, Dean can’t even bring himself to care because he’s in freakin’ _Heaven_ —who the hell cares what Uriel thinks? He takes another breath of sugary, cinnamon-y, apple-pie-perfection, and Jesus, it’s like this scent was made for Dean, custom designed.

“I guess he can stay,” Adam decides. “That okay with you, Cas?”

Cas only nods, and it occurs to Dean that he doesn’t even know what Cas sounds like yet. Dean hasn’t even started coming up with a way to make the guy talk when he says, “I agree with Anna,” and holy _crap_ , his voice is low.

“You always agree with Anna,” Uriel says huffily.

“That’s because I’m always right,” Anna says.

In an attempt to turn his attention back to Adam, Dean asks, “So are you planning to join the swim team in the spring?” Adam doesn’t answer immediately, caught off guard by the question, and Dean says, “What, did you really think I didn’t know anything about you? C’mon, give me some credit.”

Recovering from the surprise, Adam says, “Yeah. Actually, so are Anna and Cas. That was how we met.”

“How ‘bout Uriel?”

“He’s my cousin,” Anna replies. “Not much of a swimmer, though.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t look it,” Dean says. “You a football player?”

Uriel nods. “Been training with Elkins almost a month already,” he answers. “You? You play any sports, Winchester?”

“Baseball,” Dean answers.

“What position?” Cas asks, and Dean is definitely unprepared for the intensity in those blue eyes when he looks over.

“Uh, pitcher,” Dean gets out, proud of himself for not stammering.

“Hmm. We didn’t have much of a baseball team at our school,” Cas says.

“Yeah, I know. We’ve won every game against you guys in the three years that I’ve played,” Dean says.

“I’ll bet you wish you could say the same about your football team,” Uriel says.

“Technically, it’s more your football team than mine now, buddy—you’re actually a player,” Dean points out. Uriel doesn’t respond, so Dean asks, “Anyway, how do you guys like it here so far?”

“It’s definitely an older campus,” Cas replies.

“Yeah. There’s more of a sense of history here,” Adam agrees.

“Sure, if you consider gum and graffiti historically significant,” Uriel scoffs. “The facilities here aren’t as good as the ones I’m used to.”

“I don’t mind so much,” Cas says. “The pool is smaller, but I’d much rather have Coach Jones than Miller.”

“I didn’t think Steve was all that bad,” Anna says.

“Well of course _you_ wouldn’t. Steve was all about his precious alphas,” Adam says.

“I take it Steve was your old coach,” Dean says.

“Yes. He has always believed that alphas are naturally better at sports, that omegas don’t really have a place in athletic events,” Adam explains. “Of course, stopwatches don’t lie, so he has to take omegas as long as they make the cut.”

“It’s not that bad,” Anna says. “He treats us mostly the same anyway.”

“Mostly, though,” Adam says. “That’s where the problem is. There shouldn’t _be_ a ‘mostly.’”

“What are your thoughts?” Uriel asks, eyes on Dean.

“Huh?” Dean says, surprised at being addressed. “I never met the guy.”

“On omegas,” Uriel clarifies.

Dean shrugs. “They’re the same as the rest of us,” he replies. “I’ve never really given it much thought.”

“I find that hard to believe. You must have some thoughts,” Uriel says.

“Don’t you think this is a bit of a serious issue to be discussing, right off the bat?” Anna says.

“Dean already did express his thoughts,” Cas points out. “He said that he thinks we’re the same as anyone else. That’s already a good enough attitude, in my opinion.”

Uriel frowns at Cas and says, “Omega equality isn’t exactly a new thing. You’ve seen _The Original Series_ —Roddenberry put together one of the most well-balanced casts in television history, and it was probably the first production that allowed onscreen omegas to be played by actual omegas. And that was the sixties.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that Dean was extraordinary or ahead of our time in his beliefs, merely that he’d made them clear,” Cas says.

Dean doesn’t mean to disregard what Cas says, but he has to respond to Uriel with, “If you’re talking about equal representation on- and off-screen, you can’t leave out _Firefly_. I mean, _Star Trek_ is great because the three main characters were alpha, beta, and omega, but the alpha was still in charge. In _Firefly_ , an omega got to be captain.”

“Sorry, but I haven’t heard of that show before,” Uriel says.

“There was only one season, and it was canceled partway through,” Dean says. He’d still been in middle school when it was on air, but he’d been so disappointed when it ended.

“Can’t have been that good, then,” Uriel says.

“That’s what everyone assumes, but it’s really good,” Dean says. “Seriously. If you’re a fan of _Star Trek_ , you’ve gotta at least give it a shot. Have any of you guys seen it? It aired on Fox a few years back.”

“I haven’t,” Cas says as Anna shakes her head.

Dean looks at Adam, who also shakes his head before adding, “I haven’t seen _Star Trek_ , either.”

“God, you guys have been missing out. I’ve got the first season on DVD—we should do a marathon,” Dean says, only realizing belatedly that he’s sort of inviting himself into their group. But he really can’t bring himself to care when Cas is sitting next to him and smelling so good.

“We’re actually getting together at Adam’s place this Sunday, and we haven’t decided what to watch yet,” Cas says. “What do you think, Adam?”

“I’m fine with it as long as you guys are,” Adam says.

“I’d like to see an omega captaining a ship,” Anna comments.

“Uriel?” Adam asks.

“No objections,” Uriel responds.

“Great!” Dean says, and it’s hard not to sound overly excited because fuck it all, he _is_. If he can slip into their group, he’ll be able to be around Cas more often, and there’s no doubt in his mind that that is exactly what he wants. “What time?”

“Haven’t decided. But if we’re doing a marathon, maybe it’d be better to start in the afternoon, rather than in the evening,” Adam says. “I’ve got your number. I’ll just text you.”

“Okay. I’ll see you guys later, then,” Dean says, getting to his feet.

“Bye,” they respond almost in unison.

Dean decides to take the slightly long way around Adam’s table to return to his own so that he’ll pass through Cas’s line of sight, and he doesn’t miss the way Cas’s eyes follow his motion. When Dean gets back to Jo and Victor, he’s sure he’s grinning like an idiot.

“What’s with you? You look like you won the lottery or something,” Jo says as she steals a chip from Victor’s bag.

“Or something,” Dean replies, trying to compose himself.

“Did you even find Adam?” Victor asks, frowning at Jo and pulling his bag of chips closer to himself. “It looks more like you just got yourself a hot date.”

“Not quite,” Dean answers, taking a chip from Victor as well.

“Dude. Get your own junk food. Both of you.”

“Don’t be so stingy. You owe me one, remember?” Jo says.

“Yeah well, you’ve already had five or six, and each bag only has so many,” Victor says.

Rolling her eyes, Jo turns her attention to Dean and asks, “So, when’s your not-quite-date?”

“Mind your own business.”

Jo pouts. “Well, you’ve gotta give us _something_. What does she look like?”

Dean starts to respond that Cas is not a _she_ , but he catches himself and answers, “I’m not stupid enough to give you any hints. We all know how that’ll end up.”

“Hey, how was _I_ supposed to know she wouldn’t like your baby pictures?”

“Damn it, Jo, when are you gonna give those back?” Dean asks with a groan, and Victor laughs.

“Never. They’re like the perfect blackmail. Why would I ever give them up?”

“I don’t know, because maybe there’s a shred of decency in you?”

Jo just laughs. “Pfft, who cares about _decency?_ Blackmail is totally more useful.”

Dean sighs and says, affectionately, “Oh, you bitch.”

* * *

Dean’s first and only class after lunch is Physics—he’s accumulated enough credits to only take five classes this year, which is great because it gives him more time to work after school. Victor’s in the class with him, so when the lunch bell rings, they head off to D Wing together.

When they enter the room, Dean notices a familiar scent, and he wonders how the hell he missed it yesterday—it’s Cas, definitely Cas. Victor’s already heading for the back of the room, but Dean catches sight of Cas about halfway down one of the rows on the left side of the classroom. Uriel’s on his right, and the seats in front of him and to his left are filled, but the seat behind him is empty, so Dean heads over to take it.

Uriel spots Dean before Cas does, and his face noticeably sours. But when Cas sees Dean, his eyes widen, mouth curving slightly upward in a small smile, and Dean grins back at him.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says as he passes by.

“Hey,” Cas says shyly.

Dean sits down and glances toward Victor, who’s confused but making his way over to Uriel’s row from the back of the room. Dean says to Cas, “What a coincidence, huh?”

“Indeed,” Cas responds, half-turning in his seat. “I mustn’t have been paying attention during roll call, yesterday.”

Victor sits down on Dean’s right and says, “Dean, who’s your friend?”

“His name is Cas,” Dean answers. “He’s one of Adam’s friends—I met him at lunch today. That’s his friend Uriel you’re sitting behind.”

“Ah. Well, I’m Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,” Cas says. After a pause, he looks over at Dean and says, “Now that I think about it, I recall seeing the pair of you in my calculus class as well. Second period?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, surprised. “There aren’t many juniors taking calc.”

“Anna and Uriel are taking calculus, too,” Cas says. “They’re in sixth period instead, though.”

“I didn’t know they moved calc to sixth period this year,” Dean says. “It’s usually only offered second and fourth period, I think.”

“Last year it was fourth and sixth,” someone else butts in, and Dean looks over to see Luther Panowski.

They were friends a long while back, Dean remembers—Luther was the son of one of Mom’s friends, and he and Dean happened to be the same age, so they played together a lot as kids. They’ve drifted apart since then, hanging out with different crowds, and haven’t spoken much in years. It’s weird, then, that Luther would barge into this conversation.

“I guess I must’ve remembered wrong,” Dean says, frowning.

Then Mr. Jones starts calling for everyone’s attention up front. Cas turns back to face forward, and Dean would be disappointed, but Cas’s scent is nice and strong here, and it’s impossible for him to be mad.

But Dean sees Luther looking over at Cas, and he _really_ doesn’t like the look in his eyes. He’s reminded in this moment that Cas smells fucking amazing, and that Luther is also an alpha. Part of the reason why he and Luther are no longer friends is Luther’s insistent belief that omegas are under alphas. Dean met Jo in middle school, and as he grew closer to her, Luther became more and more unfriendly toward him, deeming him weak for choosing to associate with an omega.

Well, shit. If Luther’s interested in Cas, it definitely isn’t because he wants to be _friends_ with him.

Something hits Dean’s right shoulder, and Dean looks down to see a wadded up sheet of paper on his desk. Victor is facing forward when Dean glances at him, and so he just unfolds the paper. The note only tells him to “Quit mooning over that boy and pay attention.”

The next time Dean looks over, Victor’s grinning down at his notes. Goddamnit, Victor and Jo have government next period, and there’s no way in hell he’s not gonna tell her all about this, because he’s a horrible, horrible friend. Son of a bitch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of last night, I have officially finished writing this fic! There will be twelve chapters in total, and the fic overall is comparable in length to Written. I'm tentatively planning on updating every five days, but I'll be traveling a little bit over the next three weeks, so if an update comes a day late, that'll be why.
> 
> But whew! Feels good to be finished. On to the next project...

By the time Sunday rolls around, Jo and Victor have invited themselves along to the _Firefly_ marathon, claiming that it’s been way too long since they last saw it. Adam and his friends were apparently fine with it when he asked them, so now Dean’s parking by the curb in front of Adam’s house with Jo in the passenger seat—Victor said that he’d take his own car over.

“Looks like Victor’s not here yet,” Jo says.

“Nope,” Dean agrees, scanning the street for his car. “Should we wait for him?”

“Nah,” Jo decides quickly, pushing open her door. “He’ll come inside when he sees the Impala.”

Nodding, Dean gets out of the car, locks the doors, and heads up the driveway, then around toward the front door. He hasn’t been to Adam’s house in years, and he can’t remember what the inside looked like—he doesn’t think he’s actually seen more than the living room, come to think of it.

He rings the doorbell, and to his surprise, Cas is the one who answers.

“Oh,” Dean says, smiling automatically, and _god_ , that smell just never gets old. Dean wishes he could bottle it up and carry it around with him. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas responds, eyes lingering on Dean for a moment before shifting to his companion. It’s entirely possible that Dean’s hallucinating, but he would totally swear that Cas’s face falls a little as he says, “Hello, Jo.”

“Hiya!” Jo says brightly—she met Cas in calculus on Thursday, the day after Dean met him. Jo had thankfully kept her mouth shut for the most part, so Cas _should_ have a pretty good impression of her. Dean can’t think of any reason for him to be looking disappointed, other than the fact that Jo is an omega, and that Dean brought her along today.

Shit, he should’ve made Victor pick her up. The last thing he wants is for Cas to think that he’s taken.

“Come on in,” Cas says, stepping aside to let them pass before pushing the door closed.

“So, how’d you get here?” Dean asks, because there weren’t any cars parked on the street in front of the house, or on the driveway, for that matter. “Did your parents drop you off, or—”

“Oh, I walked,” Cas says. At Dean’s surprised expression, Cas explains, “I live next door.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s good,” Dean says.

Jo chuckles. “Dean’s just disappointed that he can’t offer you a ride home,” she says, and Dean resists the urge to shove her, because _really?_

“I saw his car,” Cas comments a little randomly, but he’s smiling a little, so Dean will take it.

“Hey, guys,” Adam says, entering the living room from a hallway. “C’mon, the TV’s through here.”

When they get to the other room, they find Anna already seated on the only couch, one that seats three people comfortably and maybe four, squeezed together. But it doesn’t seem like there’ll be a problem, because there are blankets laid out on the ground in front of the couch—a coffee table that seems like it’s normally placed directly in front of the couch has been pushed aside to make room.

“If you don’t wanna sit on the floor, you can pull chairs, too,” Adam says, going into the kitchen. “Soda, anybody?”

“Yeah, sure!” Dean calls back, setting _Firefly_ down on the coffee table.

Cas sinks to the ground near Anna’s feet, legs crossed in front of him, Indian style. Dean’s reasonably sure that their relationship is platonic, but Anna is still an alpha, and Dean’s instincts are clamoring for him to get closer to Cas, to make sure the others know that he’s off limits.

Dimly, he registers Anna inviting them to sit, and Jo hops onto the couch next to her, chatting away immediately. That distracts him enough to pull him out of his thoughts about Cas, because wait—since when were _they_ all buddy-buddy?

Shaking his head, Dean takes a few steps over to the couch and sits on the floor, next to Cas but not close enough that he’d be crowding him.

The TV is on, but a commercial is running.

“So, where’s Uriel?” Dean asks Cas.

“He lives a little farther from us. Anna and I walked here together, though—she lives on the other side of my house,” Cas answers. “Is Victor still coming?”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“Okay, so I’m thinking we should order pizza around five or six-ish. Would you guys be okay with that?” Adam asks, returning from the kitchen with an armload of sodas.

Dean instantly gets to his feet and grabs two from the top, passing them over to Anna and Jo. He takes two more, one for himself and the other for Cas, and Adam sets the last three down on the coffee table.

From behind him, Dean hears the name, Moseley, and turns. “You guys talking about Speech and Debate?” he asks.

“Yeah. Anna’s on the team,” Jo says. “I thought I told you.”

“Nope,” Dean says, shaking his head.

“Well, now you know.”

The commercial break is over, and some horrible reality TV show is playing, apparently. “ _Seriously?_ ” he says, looking around for the remote control. “Who picked this channel?”

“It’s a guilty pleasure,” Anna snaps, nudging him with the side of her foot.

Adam has just changed the channel when the doorbell rings, so he thrusts the remote control at Dean before heading out of the room. Dean passes the remote up to Anna or Jo—he doesn’t see who takes it from him—and turns his attention to Cas. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this drawn in by a scent before, and he finds himself wondering what Cas might _taste_ like, if even his smell is so alluring.

Dean’s mouth promptly floods with saliva, and he swallows quickly.

“So what exactly is the premise of this show?” Cas asks.

Dean glances at the TV. “Uh, I don’t—”

“I mean the one that you brought— _Firefly_ ,” Cas clarifies.

When Dean looks back at Cas, he finds blue eyes looking at him like he’s the most interesting thing in the world, and fuck, Dean would give anything to have Cas looking at him like this all day, every day. “It’s a space western,” Dean answers, grinning at the skeptical look on Cas’s face. “I know it sounds weird, but I don’t think I can really explain it. Just trust me—you’ll love it.”

Cas licks his lips, and Dean can’t help but track the movement with his eyes, which is horrible because now his eyes are lingering on those spit-slick lips, and it’d be so, so easy to just lean forward and lick Cas’s mouth open.

Adam returns with Victor and Uriel in tow, and Jo cheers because it means they can start the show. At Uriel’s insistence, Victor takes the seat on the couch, and Uriel hunkers down next to Dean, which is thoroughly uncomfortable because there’s certainly no love lost between them. Dean chooses to focus instead on Cas, because he’s a hell of a lot more pleasant than Uriel.

The TV goes quiet, and Dean looks over to see Adam fiddling with the DVD player. Cas chooses this moment to finally pop his soda can open and take a few nice, long swallows, and Dean should probably be ashamed of how blatantly he’s staring, but Cas doesn’t seem to notice.

Dean’s ogling doesn’t go unnoticed by Jo, though, because she gives him a nudge with her foot—he knows it’s her because it came from the side opposite Anna. But the three on the couch seem to be engrossed in a conversation about one of their debate topics, so Dean goes back to his new favorite pastime: staring at Cas.

Then Dean hears the explosions signaling the beginning of the first episode, and he reaches back to get the Speech and Debate nerds’ attention by swatting at Jo’s leg. She kicks him in retaliation, and he yelps.

“Hey, it’s starting!” he says defensively as Adam squeezes in between Dean and Uriel, effectively pushing Dean closer to Cas.

“Dude, you’re still not supposed to hit a lady,” Jo shoots back, pulling her legs up onto the couch.

“Was any of what just happened essential to the plot? I might have missed the very beginning,” Cas says, a hand resting on Dean’s arm to draw his attention, and holy _crap_ is it effective, because suddenly it feels like Dean’s entire world is centered on Cas.

“Not really. You just gotta know it’s a battle,” Dean says. “They’re fighting against the Alliance, which—”

“Shut up, Dean. They don’t need a synopsis,” Victor interrupts.

“Bite me.”

“Okay, okay, can everyone just shut up? I’d like to actually watch the show,” Anna says.

They fall silent, and it takes maybe a minute for Dean to notice that Cas’s hand is still on his forearm. He’s probably a little—or maybe a lot—more pleased by the realization than is strictly normal, and if he shifts like an inch or two closer, well. Hopefully everyone’s too into the show to notice.

* * *

It’s Sunday, so it’s technically a school night—they have school tomorrow morning. It also happens to be the one night this week that Michael has off, so if Castiel comes home after ten, Michael will know, and he’ll be furious. With this in mind, Castiel suggests that they call it quits after the seventh episode, which they finish around nine thirty.

He offers to stay behind with Anna to help Adam with clean-up, and then he walks Dean, Victor, Jo, and Uriel to the door. Dean chooses to leave the DVD set at Adam’s, saying that they’ll finish the rest of the season next time. Castiel stares into his green, green eyes and thinks that he would like that very much.

He closes the door behind them and returns to the game room to help out. Anna’s already gathering soda cans, so Castiel picks up the three pizza boxes and combines the slices to fit into one box.

“You guys don’t have to do that,” Adam says, coming back from the kitchen, where he’d been on the phone with his mom.

“It’s no big deal,” Anna replies easily, brushing some used napkins into a trash bag and tying it up.

“I’ll take the trash out. You guys head on home,” Adam says.

Castiel passes the empty pizza boxes to Adam and says, “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He and Anna leave together, starting the short walk toward their houses. “You seem to be getting along quite well with Jo,” Castiel observes when they hit the sidewalk.

Anna smiles. “Yeah, she’s great. Fearless,” she answers. After a pause, she says, “But Jo’s not the person you’re actually interested in, is she?”

“Anna—”

“No, seriously. How much of the show did you even watch, with him right next to you?”

“I was paying attention,” Castiel says indignantly.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Anna says, laughing.

Castiel folds his arms across his chest as they head up the driveway of his house—after getting together at Adam’s, Anna typically walks him right up to his doorstep before continuing to her own house. “You can stop laughing at me any minute now,” Castiel huffs.

Still smiling, Anna says, “Y’know, I can see why you’d like him. I mean, objectively, he’s _gorgeous_. A little too alpha for my tastes, obviously, but… yeah. I see it.”

“Please stop,” Castiel says with a groan.

“Okay, okay,” Anna relents. “So, what do you think my chances are with Jo?”

“I’m not sure, but her two closest friends are both alphas, so it stands to reason that she can get along well with them,” Castiel says, stopping at the front door and pulling out his keys. “You two seemed to mesh well enough tonight.”

“You don’t think she and Victor are an item, do you?” Anna says, frowning.

“I do not think so, no,” Castiel answers, shoving his key into the lock and turning it.

“Well, you’re in two classes with them, right?”

“Two classes with Dean and Victor,” Castiel corrects. “Jo is only in calculus with me.”

“Hmm,” Anna says thoughtfully.

“If you’d like, I can ask about the nature of their relationship,” Castiel offers.

“Oh no, don’t worry about it,” Anna says immediately. “I can handle myself. You just focus on seducing your alpha.”

“Anna!” Castiel says reprovingly as he twists the doorknob and pushes the front door open. He steps inside and turns toward Anna, hoping that being backlit is hiding his blush.

“Love you, Cas,” Anna says with a wide smile, leaning in to give him a quick hug. He closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of pine, pleasant and familiar to him, and then Anna pulls away. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

Castiel nods and watches Anna start walking away before pushing the door closed. He puts his keys in his pocket and kicks off his shoes—Michael has always kept a clean house and doesn’t allow people to wear shoes inside—before starting down the hallway.

Michael emerges from his room as Castiel is passing by and seems startled. “Castiel. I assumed you’d be home late.”

“You would have been angry,” Castiel says, frowning.

The surprised look has faded from his brother’s face, replaced by a smile. “And I was fully prepared to be. How was the movie marathon?”

“We watched a television show, not a series of movies.”

Michael waves away the clarification and prods, “And?”

“It was good. I liked the show very much,” Castiel says. He walks into the living room, hoping to reach the stairs before Michael can continue his questioning.

“I smell an alpha on you, and it’s not Anna,” Michael says just as Castiel reaches the foot of the stairs.

“Yes, I mentioned that we’d be joined by a few new friends,” Castiel says, one hand on the railing as Michael comes over to him.

“Well? Tell me about this alpha.”

Castiel licks his lips and contemplates brushing his brother off, but this is not worth an argument, so he says, “His name is Dean.”

“Dean,” Michael says, brow furrowed. He leans closer to Castiel, nostrils flaring as he scents him, and says, “He wouldn’t happen to be about my height, with kinda brown hair and green eyes?”

“Um—”

“Freckled, good with his hands, smells like the ocean?”

Oh, no. _Michael knows Dean_.

The terror must show on Castiel’s face, because Michael breaks into an amused smile and says, “Hey, don’t worry. He’s a good kid.”

“How do you know him?” Castiel asks.

“He works at the auto shop with me,” Michael says. “He works a three-hour shift on school days and comes in if we need an extra pair of hands on the weekends.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, surprised by this bit of information. It strikes him that he really doesn’t know much about Dean, beyond the fact that he is charming and smells like Heaven and has his head on straight about how to treat omegas.

“He seems like an honest kid,” Michael decides, “but that doesn’t mean I approve, you got it? And if he tries to touch you—”

“Yes, I know. Kick him in the balls and run,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes.

Michael nods once in approval. “All right, now go on upstairs.” Castiel hurries up the flight as quickly as he can, but not before Michael calls out a reminder—“Lights out by ten thirty, all right?”

“I _know!_ ” Castiel responds, because ten thirty has been his bedtime for years.

He glances over at the door to Lucifer’s room, across the landing from his own, and isn’t surprised to find it open and the room inside dark and empty. He can’t remember the last time Lucifer was home at the same time he was—this residency really _is_ a residency, in the sense that Lucifer might actually be residing at the hospital.

Sighing, Castiel goes into his room to shrug off his jacket before plodding into the bathroom for a shower.

* * *

The next morning, Adam and Castiel meet at Anna’s house as usual, and she drives them to school.

Once there, they head straight toward D Wing for first period anatomy with Dr. Robert, who apparently has a doctorate and likes to flaunt that fact. According to Nancy Fitzgerald, the kind and sweet omega who sits in front of him and smells like cotton candy, Dr. Robert used to be an actual medical doctor, but he got his license revoked for reasons unknown.

Castiel is unsure what to make of the rumor.

The hour goes by quickly, Castiel remaining focused on everything Dr. Robert is saying because despite his dubious legitimacy as a medical man, he seems competent enough as a teacher. When the bell rings and class is dismissed, Castiel bids farewell to his friends—Adam goes downstairs to his chemistry class, and Anna heads toward B Wing for English—and leaves through the side door to cross the bridge that leads to E Wing.

Inside the calculus classroom, Castiel takes his usual seat and gets out his pencil and binder while he waits for Dean to appear. He usually comes in with Jo, because they have the same class first period—Castiel cannot remember what it is, at present, but he hopes to learn everything about Dean eventually.

Victor arrives before his friends, sitting down to Castiel’s right and dropping his backpack in the seat behind Castiel. “Morning,” he greets.

“Hello,” Castiel says. He hadn’t thought to save seats for Dean and Jo, but it seems considerate.

“Did you get home on time last night?” Victor asks.

“Oh. Yes. My brother was pleasantly surprised.”

There’s a brief silence during which Victor leans back in his seat and stretches, and Castiel can’t help but admire the flex of muscles in his forearms. He’s never considered himself the sort of omega that would melt at a display of power by an alpha, be it advertent or not, but he does know how to appreciate strength when he sees it.

Dean and Jo enter the room then, drawing his attention, and he feels his heart rate pick up when Dean’s eyes find him, lips curling up into a charming smile.

“Hey, guys,” Dean says, though his eyes have not left Castiel’s, and Castiel turns a little as he passes, watching as Dean snatches up Victor’s backpack and thrusts it at him before sinking into the reserved seat. Jo takes the desk behind Victor, and Castiel misses their greetings because he’s too busy taking in Dean’s scent, salty and musky and undeniably _alpha_.

Castiel thinks that he would be content to surround himself in this scent for hours, wonders what it would feel like to spend hours wrapped up in Dean’s arms.

“Cas,” Dean says, grinning, “you’re making me blush.”

Castiel blinks twice, startled, and immediately flushes red because Dean may not actually be blushing, but he’s certainly noticed Castiel’s blatant staring. “Sorry,” he says, dropping his eyes and starting to turn away, but Dean’s quick to lean forward, grasping Castiel’s shoulder firmly.

“I don’t mind,” he says in a low voice, and Castiel feels as though all of the blood in his body has rushed straight up to his head with how his cheeks are warming up. Even his ears feel red. He usually isn’t this timid; Dean’s proximity just— _does things_ to him.

“My brother, Michael, told me that you work at Singer Auto,” Castiel blurts out, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind that isn’t along the lines of _please kiss me now._

Dean looks confused for a moment, and then he says, “Your big brother is Michael?”

Castiel nods, glancing down at the hand that Dean still has on his shoulder. _Kick him in the balls and run_ , he thinks, and holds down a hysterical laugh because he thinks he would let Dean do far more than touch, if he asked nicely. Michael would be so disappointed in him.

“Huh,” Dean says, leaning back a little and withdrawing his hand. “He’s a pretty cool guy, but I can’t say I see the resemblance.”

Castiel smiles. “None of my brothers and I bear much resemblance to each other. Michael and Lucifer are twins, yet they look nothing alike at all.”

“You have a brother named _Lucifer?_ ” Jo says, head whipping in their direction—Victor looks over as well, slightly irritated, and it seems the two were deep in conversation moments before. Castiel wonders for a moment whether or not there really _is_ the possibility of a romantic connection between the two.

“Yes,” he answers in the meantime. “We were named after angels, and Lucifer was an angel.”

“Uh huh,” Jo says. “So what are your other brothers named?”

“Raphael and Gabriel,” Castiel replies.

“Wait— _Cas_ doesn’t sound like the name of an angel,” Dean points out.

“It’s short for Castiel.”

“Haven’t heard of that angel before,” Victor says. “Must be an obscure one.”

“It is,” Castiel confirms. Without really thinking about it, he goes on, “Gabriel used to joke that I was named after an obscure angel because I was an accident.”

Dean immediately scowls, protectiveness slipping into his scent. “That’s not funny.”

“I didn’t think so either,” Castiel says. He doesn’t even know why he brought it up.

Dean opens his mouth to say something in response, but Mr. Turner is calling for everyone’s attention, so Castiel swivels around to face forward, opening his binder to take out his homework because they’re supposed to pass it up at the beginning of the period. He waits a moment before half-turning to take Dean’s assignment. He adds his own to the pile and reaches forward, passing it on to the student in front of him.

When he settles back in his seat, he’s startled by Dean’s voice, close to his ear—“You have a cell phone?”

“Uh, yes,” Castiel says quietly. “Can we talk after class?”

“Oh, right. You’re a good little student, aren’t you?” Dean asks, and Castiel wants to lean farther back because he can’t get enough of Dean’s scent from here. He doesn’t have a response for Dean, though, and as Mr. Turner walks across the front row to pick up the stacks of assignments, Dean murmurs, “You should give me your number.”

“After class,” Castiel hisses.

“Dean!” Mr. Turner says sharply from the front of the room, and Castiel immediately sits up straight, putting some more distance between himself and Dean.

“Yeah, Coach?” Dean says, sounding relaxed and unruffled.

“Don’t make me reseat you,” Mr. Turner says. “Don’t want you corrupting the new students.”

“Hey, how do you know he’s not the one corrupting me?” Dean protests, much to the amusement of their classmates, if the laughs that this statement invokes are anything to go by. Castiel frowns at the implication—Dean doesn’t seem to be a bad student, so is he a bad influence in some other way?

Mr. Turner just snorts and turns to the whiteboard. “Last Friday, we left off on limits,” he says, writing the word in large block letters at the top of the board. “So let’s review. Which one o’ you numbskulls can give me the definition of a limit?”

* * *

When the bell rings, everyone scrambles to pack their things. Dean and Jo finish first and wait for Castiel and Victor.

“So, about that number,” Dean says, looking at Castiel expectantly.

“Maybe I don’t want to give it to you,” Castiel says, smiling a little. He’s already written it down on a slip of paper and put it in his pocket, but Dean doesn’t need to know that yet.

Jo laughs. “Looks like you’re getting rusty, Dean,” she comments.

Castiel zips up his backpack and gets to his feet, slinging it over one shoulder and starting up the aisle—Victor is already starting to walk away, too, so Dean and Jo follow, bickering good-naturedly.

“They’re always like this, aren’t they?” he remarks to Victor.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Victor says. “Just try not to get dragged in.”

As they exit the classroom, Castiel starts toward the English building. Dean and Victor follow his lead, but Jo goes in the opposite direction, so the last insults that she and Dean trade are shouted at each other. Castiel contemplates asking Victor about the nature of his relationship with Jo while Jo and Dean are otherwise occupied, but Dean catches up to them before Castiel can begin.

“God, that one is never gonna find a mate,” Dean says.

“You say that at least once a week, but my money’s still on her getting married or mated before you’ve even started looking,” Victor responds readily.

Dean looks mock-affronted, and Castiel can’t help but frown. It’s technically still early to be thinking about marriage or a mate, but the way that Victor speaks about Dean implies that he is promiscuous, and Castiel is in no way interested in being just one more person in a long list of conquests.

“Ah, forget it,” Dean says, draping one arm over Castiel’s shoulders as they leave the building and start crossing the bridge to C Wing. “So, why won’t you give me your number?”

And Castiel wants to answer, he really does, but he’s caught up in the sudden assault of Dean’s scent on his senses, filling his nose, and the omega inside him wants to bury his face in Dean’s neck and stay there for as long as Dean will allow it.

Dimly, he registers Victor saying, “He doesn’t need to give you a reason, Dean. Don’t be a dick.”

“Hey, I’m just curious,” Dean says.

Finding his voice, Castiel says, “I never said that I wouldn’t give it to you.”

“I guess you didn’t,” Dean says, and Castiel can tell without looking at him that he’s smiling again, because he smells… _happy_. Castiel cannot think of another word to describe it, cannot liken it to anything he’s ever smelled, but he knows that he wants to have it all the time.

So he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the slip of paper, pressing it into the hand that’s resting up by his collarbone.

“Cool,” Dean says, pulling his arm back as they reach the History building. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Castiel tries to suppress the disappointment that he feels at the loss of contact and waves a quick goodbye to Dean, continuing onward with Victor.

“You didn’t have to give it to him, you know,” Victor says, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“I know,” Castiel answers. “I wanted to.”

“Hmm,” Victor grunts, shooting a sideways glance at Castiel. “How old are you? I mean, I know that you’re a junior, but—”

“I’m fifteen.”

Victor whistles. “Not even legal yet,” he says. “Dean’s gonna be so disappointed.”

“Are you—” Castiel frowns, almost takes back his question, but decides to just ask, “Are you really that certain he’s interested in me?”

The taller boy gives him an incredulous look. “Have you _seen_ the way he is around you?”

“Point taken,” Castiel says, nodding. They enter B Wing, and it really helps to have Victor walking in front of Castiel to help clear a path for him. “I’ll be sixteen next Monday,” he offers.

“Oh, that’s not bad,” Victor says, stopping at the door to his classroom. “Though…”

He stops and steps out of the way of a few of his classmates, pulling Castiel to the side so that they’re out of the way. When he leans in closer, Castiel gets a whiff of freshly cut grass, clean and strong without being overbearing, and decides that it’s a scent he appreciates in the same way that he likes Anna’s—it feels instinctively comforting. Safe.

Then Victor is continuing, “You don’t seem like the type to sleep around, so just. Be careful about getting involved with Dean. He’s a great guy, but he’s not exactly looking for someone to spend the rest of his life with.”

Castiel nods. “Thank you for the warning.”

“Hey, no worries,” Victor says, waving it off. “Oh, and the next time he puts his arm around you, don’t hesitate to shove him away, if it makes you uncomfortable. He won’t take it personally.”

Watching Victor intently, Castiel says, “You really care, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I don’t—I’m not trying to say you can’t take care of yourself, but—better safe than sorry. Anyway, you should go. You’re gonna be late to class.”

Castiel smiles. “Again, thank you.”

Victor just nods before turning to go into his classroom, and Castiel hurries down the quickly emptying hall to the stairs, taking them down to the first floor. He reaches his classroom just as the bell is ringing and takes a moment to locate Uriel, seated at the back of the room. The seat next to him is vacant, and Castiel hurries to take it.

Mr. Carlton tells them to take out the essays that they were supposed to have written over the weekend and announces that he’ll be coming around to stamp them as completed. He passes out a rubric, saying that when he’s finished stamping, they’ll partner up to swap essays and peer edit.

The students start talking at a permissible volume as Mr. Carlton goes around, and Castiel gets out his binder to retrieve his essay.

“Why were you almost late?” Uriel asks.

“I got a little held up,” Castiel answers vaguely, locating his essay and placing it on the upper left side of his desk.

“Obviously,” Uriel says impatiently. “Why were you held up?”

Accepting a rubric from the student in front of him, Castiel puts it down on his desk and says, “I was talking to Victor.”

“Victor?”

Uriel sounds surprised, so Castiel turns to study him. “Yes. Did you expect me to be with Dean?”

“Well, yes. You can’t have missed the fact that he’s only using Adam as an excuse for pulling our friend groups together. His real object is to court you,” Uriel says.

“I’m not _stupid_ ,” Castiel says, turning his attention back to the rubric.

“People who aren’t stupid can still do stupid things,” Uriel says.

“Do you not trust my judgment?” Castiel asks, giving up on the rubric for now because he’s not going to be able to read it while Uriel still wants to talk this out.

“I think you tend to see the best in people while overlooking the worst,” Uriel says.

“That’s not true. I see plenty of flaws,” Castiel says.

“You should be more careful,” Uriel admonishes. “The alphas at East Valley knew not to mess with you after growing up with Michael always there to take care of you, but here? We hardly know any of the alphas here, and they don’t know you’re untouchable.”

“I’ve never been _untouchable_ ,” Castiel says, frowning.

“More than one alpha certainly thought so,” Uriel contradicts.

But then Mr. Carlton is at Castiel’s desk, and he quickly checks that Castiel has written the assigned four-to-five paragraphs before stamping the front of his essay and turning to check Uriel’s work.

When he’s moved on, Uriel continues, “It’s not just Dean you should look out for, either. That alpha who kept talking to you in physics last week—”

“Luther?” Castiel supplies.

“Yes, him. He’s not good news, either,” Uriel says.

Castiel shakes his head. Luther is polite and intelligent and very helpful with physics. Last Friday, Mr. Jones had had them working in pairs based on seating, and since Luther was sitting beside Castiel, they had completed an assignment together. “Uriel, I don’t think—”

“My instincts tell me that you shouldn’t trust Luther, so just—”

“You also don’t think I should trust Dean, but he’s friends with Victor, and I—you wanted to know why I was late to class, didn’t you? It was because Victor wanted to warn me that Dean was not the committing type of alpha—at least, not yet—and hoped to spare me the pain of unknowingly entering some sort of a relationship with him. Do you really think an untrustworthy person would be able to keep a friend with such strong morals—a friend who cares so much?”

“It could be a set-up,” Uriel says, and Castiel sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, Castiel. We don’t know these people.”

“What about Jo? She’s an omega. I doubt she would stand by and just let them set me up.”

Uriel sighs heavily, slumping back in his seat. “You appear to have made up your mind already,” he says.

“I have,” Castiel confirms. “Are we done, now?”

Uriel just nods. Relieved, Castiel turns back to the rubric and starts reading the list of criteria that a good essay would need to meet.

“Oh,” Uriel says, as though he’s just remembered something, “the first football game is this Friday. You three had better be there.”

“So early in the year?” Castiel says, frowning.

“Well, this technically doesn’t count as a league game. It’s part of that whole ‘friendly competition’ thing. Regardless, I want you there.”

“I suppose we could go to Thursday practice instead of Friday,” Castiel says. “Though I wouldn’t mind skipping swim practice altogether. It’ll just be one day.”

Uriel chuckles. “Yeah, that’s the spirit.”

“And if Dean and his friends are free, perhaps we could continue watching _Firefly_ after the game,” Castiel continues. Predictably, Uriel’s face sours at the mention of Dean, and Castiel says, “You and the others will be there the entire time. What do you think he could possibly do to me?”

Uriel just shakes his head and looks down at his rubric, so Castiel returns his attention to his own.


	3. Chapter 3

The football team actually doesn’t seem to have changed all that much, Dean thinks as he looks out on the field. There weren’t that many seniors on the team last year, so they haven’t really lost many players, and most freshmen are on the bench for a lot of the time anyway.

Uriel’s hulking figure does stand out, though. He’s probably one of the biggest guys on the team, which is even more impressive, considering he’s a beta and not an alpha—whatever anyone thinks about equality between alphas, betas, and omegas, it is a physiological fact that alphas tend to be bigger and stronger than others.

Truman scores another touchdown, and the people around Dean are cheering, but he’s actually kinda bored. He tries to tell himself that his disinterest is just because this isn’t even a league game and therefore doesn’t matter, but it’s pretty much hopeless, and he may as well admit that he’s feeling jilted because he’s squeezed in between Jo and Victor. Beyond Jo are Anna, Cas, and Adam, and from this distance, in a crowd of so many people, it’s pretty much impossible to smell Cas.

So yeah, Dean’s disgruntled, and it’s because of Cas. Sue him.

Victor picks up on his foul mood and ribs him about it for a while, but he stops when Dean doesn’t give him much of a reaction. The game wraps up in about two hours total, and they get out of the stands, waiting around for Uriel to show.

“One group of us should go ahead to get a table, just in case there’s a long wait,” Anna says—they’re standing in a circle by the Impala because it’s parked pretty close to the gate that Uriel will be coming out of. Dean doesn’t actually know where Anna or Victor’s cars are.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Cas says.

“Anna and I will stay. The rest of you can go ahead,” Jo says, and Dean raises an eyebrow at her, because yeah, she and Anna seem to have hit it off, but Jo’s like a little sister to him, so it’s his prerogative to worry about her, especially when she’s volunteering to stay behind with an alpha.

“If you’re sure,” Victor says, looking between the two of them. When they both nod, he starts heading farther into the parking lot.

“I’m riding with you,” Adam says, jogging a few steps to catch up.

Dean sees him looking back over his shoulder at Cas and wonders what Adam thinks about the potential of his half-brother and his best friend getting into a relationship. He clearly can’t be _that_ opposed, if he’s practically setting Dean up to drive Cas over, right?

“Guess it’s you and me,” Dean says, walking around to the driver’s side of the Impala.

Cas nods, unable to hide a smile as he ducks into the car. Dean doesn’t waste a moment, getting into the driver’s seat and pulling the door closed behind him. And aw, _yeah_. Being in an enclosed space with Cas makes his smell that much stronger, and Dean revels in the spicy sweetness of it.

Dean starts the car and pulls out of the parking space before driving past Anna and Jo to join the traffic jam of cars that are currently trying to leave the lot.

“What music is this?” Cas asks, looking over at the radio.

They’re not moving right now, so Dean’s free to stare at Cas for a moment. “Are you serious?”

Cas blinks. “Why else would I be asking?”

“Wow,” Dean says. “It’s ‘Enter Sandman.’”

“That’s a strange title,” Cas comments.

Dean hesitates because he almost doesn’t wanna know, but well, if he and Cas are gonna be together—and somehow, he just _knows_ that they are, that it’s just a matter of courting Cas until he’s ready—then he’s gonna have to know what Cas’s musical taste is like. So he says, “Please tell me you’ve at least _heard_ of Metallica.”

“Oh. Yes, I have,” Cas says. “I did not know that their music sounded like this, though.”

“Well okay, then. What do you think of them so far?”

Cas is quiet for a moment, and when Dean sneaks a glance in his direction, he finds that Cas is looking right back, contemplative.

“What?” Dean says, frowning and turning his attention back to the cars in front of him. They’re moving, so he lets the Impala roll a few yards forward.

“I like it,” Cas decides. “I think I’d like to listen to some more.”

Dean grins widely. “Well, I’ve got their best album right here, so you’re in luck.”

He edges forward again, and when he steps on the brake, he takes a moment to look over at Cas, who’s looking down at his lap. Dean would be worried that Cas is upset, but it only takes one inhale for him to confirm that Cas is just fine. He’s also smiling, the corner of his lips that Dean can see turning up just a little, and _Christ_ , Dean wants to kiss him so bad.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Cas finally says, looking over at Dean. His eyes widen slightly when their gazes lock, like he hadn’t expected Dean to be looking at him, and it’s unbelievably satisfying that Dean can _see_ Cas’s pupils dilating, his own want reflected right back at him.

A car honks, ruining the moment, and Dean jerks back to attention and realizes that the exit has cleared up. Cas’s scent seems more tart now, and Dean wonders if that’s embarrassment. He can’t wait until he’s familiar enough with Cas to identify his mood through scent. It’s an innate ability with family members, and it’s doable with friends, but the mate bond is supposed to be strongest of all. He’s heard that using scent to identify emotions is as natural as breathing, between mates.

And god help him, but he wants that with Cas.

* * *

It apparently isn’t busy at the diner that the group had agreed upon earlier in the day, so Dean and Castiel are seated immediately at a booth meant for six—they draw up an extra chair to make room. Once they’re settled in, Dean continues to talk animatedly about an array of bands, and Castiel tries to keep up, but he’ll probably have to go on Wikipedia later to learn the names of the members in each band. He doesn’t want to disappoint Dean, he’s realized in the week or so since they met.

He is relieved when Adam and Victor come to join them. Since Dean took the seat right up against the wall and pulled Castiel onto the bench next to him, Victor goes to sit across from Dean while Adam chooses to slide in on Castiel’s side.

“What’re we talking about?” Adam asks.

“Dean has been teaching me about classic rock bands,” Castiel says.

Victor snorts. “You don’t have to listen to him,” he says. “His taste in music is woefully limited.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel says before Dean can retort, and the approval that radiates from Dean, the knowledge that Castiel has pleased his alpha, is so very satisfying. And then Castiel reels back a little, mentally, because Dean is _not_ his alpha—it is far too early for him to be even _thinking_ about mating with Dean.

“See? Cas knows what’s up,” Dean says.

“He just doesn’t know any better when it comes to you. He’ll learn,” Victor says, and Castiel would bristle at the implication that he’s ignorant, but the words are said without malice, so he allows them.

A waiter comes by their table and introduces himself as Inias before dropping off a stack of menus on the end and asking for their drink orders. Dean, Adam, and Victor all order soft drinks, but Castiel just asks for a glass of iced water. Adam passes three menus to Castiel, who hands one over to Victor and the other to Dean before opening his own.

“So, why aren’t you drinking soda?” Dean asks. “I woulda pegged you for a guy with a sweet tooth.”

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t usually finish my drinks at restaurants, so it seems a waste to pay for a drink that I will only drink half of.”

“Huh. Is that something you came up with on your own, or did your parents tell you that?” Victor asks.

“My parents are gone,” Castiel says, and immediately regrets it—he’s been working on his interactions with people who are not familiar with him, but sometimes he still forgets and speaks too bluntly.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Victor says.

Castiel shakes his head. “It was a long time ago. I shouldn’t have brought them up—I apologize.”

“Whoa, Cas, you don’t have to apologize,” Dean says. “Vic was the one who mentioned parents, anyway.”

Dean has leaned in closer, and Castiel finds himself drifting closer in return, as though he’s being drawn in, pulled forward by Dean’s gravity. A sharp poke in the side from Adam has him straightening again, and Dean seems to catch himself as well, turning to face Victor.

“So you just live with your brothers, then,” Victor says, resuming the conversation, but his eyes are flitting between Dean and Castiel.

“Just Michael and Lucifer,” Castiel replies. “Gabriel and Raphael are out-of-town.”

“Is that temporary, or…?”

“Raphael has been in the Peace Corps for about six months,” Castiel says. “Gabriel is attending college in Kansas City, so he comes home every few weeks.”

“That sounds pretty good,” Victor comments.

“You might not have heard about it, but our principal’s house was graffiti-ed a few years back,” Adam says. “That was Gabriel.”

“He always did have a problem with authority,” Castiel says.

“Did he get caught?” Dean asks.

“No,” Castiel replies. “I’m certain the principal had his suspicions, but he couldn’t prove that it was my brother.” Smiling at the memory, he adds, “Michael was furious, of course.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. He uh, runs a tight ship, doesn’t he?” Dean says.

Chuckling, Victor says, “What, are you worried about your chances?”

“Hey, shove it.”

“If I were to choose a mate, Michael’s approval would be important, but not crucial,” Castiel says. He would certainly take his brother’s words into consideration, but taking a mate is ultimately a choice that he is determined to make on his own.

Victor looks like he’s going to say something else, but he’s interrupted by the arrival of Anna, Jo, and Uriel. Jo slides into the seat beside Victor, and Anna follows her; Uriel takes the chair at the head of the table, and Adam claps his back in congratulations.

“Good game,” he says.

Castiel has never cared for football. He knows that this game was a victory for their school, but he has little interest in watching groups of people tackle each other for control over a ball. Nevertheless, he joins the others in congratulating Uriel, and they’re just quieting down when Inias returns with a tray of drinks—three sodas and a water. He sets the drinks down and takes orders from the newcomers.

“Are the rest of you ready to order, or would you rather wait for your friends?” Inias asks.

“We’ll wait,” Adam replies.

“Okay. I’ll be back with the rest of the drinks in a minute.”

“We should probably actually look at the menu,” Adam says, opening up the menu in front of him.

“I already know what I’m getting,” Dean says.

Jo sighs and says, eyes on Castiel, “He gets the same thing every time we’re here: a bacon cheeseburger and curly fries. Hopeless.”

“Hey. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Dean says.

“Burgers _are_ quite good,” Castiel says, looking down at his own menu.

“Oh come on, don’t take his side,” Jo says. “He’s gonna die of a heart attack before he’s thirty.”

Castiel knows that it’s a joke, but he feels a split second of tension and fear, near-crippling in intensity, because it’d be a disaster if his mate died so young. And there it is again— _mate_. Castiel needs to remember that Dean is _not_ his mate, before he says or does something stupid.

He distantly hears Dean saying something in response to Jo but doesn’t pick up the words, too lost in his own thoughts. What _would_ it be like to be mated to him? To be surrounded by that scent all the time, enough that it lingered on his skin wherever he went? Dean would take care of him, Castiel thinks.

But no—he doesn’t know that. What he’s doing right now is projecting, and he needs to stop before he gets too carried away.

* * *

Dinner lasts for approximately an hour and a half, and then they all pile back into the cars they arrived in and drive back to Adam’s house to pick up where they left off on _Firefly_.

Dean beats everyone else to the couch this time, taking up a ridiculous amount of room until Castiel approaches—then he scoots toward the middle, and Castiel settles in between him and the arm of the couch. They’re closer together than last time, and Castiel feels his entire left side heating up where it’s in contact with Dean.

It is decidedly more difficult to pay attention to the exploits of Mal and his crew when Dean rests an arm across Castiel’s shoulders, inviting him to snuggle closer. On the ground, Anna and Jo are curled up together in a nest of blankets, but their eyes are still on the television.

Partway through the second episode of the night, Castiel feels his eyelids drooping. His feet are drawn up on the couch by now, and he twists a little, head resting on Dean’s shoulder.

He must drift off, because the next thing he knows, the lights have been turned on, and Dean is shaking him lightly.

“Hey,” Adam is saying, crouched on the ground in front of him. “You okay to spend the night here? We’re all kinda drifting off—”

“Jo and Anna are napping down there,” Dean breaks in, amused.

“—and I figure we could just finish this off tomorrow, since it’s gonna be Saturday,” Adam finishes.

“Ugh, shut _up_ ,” a sleepy voice complains, and Castiel identifies it as Jo’s.

“Quit bitching. It’s not cute,” Victor says, but he doesn’t sound fully alert, either.

“Is your mother okay with it?” Castiel asks Adam.

“Yeah, no worries.”

“She doesn’t know Dean, Jo, or Victor,” Castiel points out.

“It’s fine. It’s not as though we’re making a mess,” Adam says. “So, you staying or not?”

“I could give Michael a call,” Castiel says with a sigh.

He lingers against Dean’s side for a moment longer—it’s just so _warm_ —before pulling away and sitting up straight. He stretches his arms up above his head, yawning, and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. Surprisingly, it’s past eleven already, and Castiel blinks stupidly at the time for a moment before actually scrolling to Michael’s number and calling it.

Michael picks up on the sixth ring. “Castiel,” he says over the sound of loud music—he must still be at the bar. “Are you home yet?”

“I’m at Adam’s house. Would it be all right if I stayed the night here?” Castiel asks.

“Cas, be _quiet_ ,” Anna hisses, and Castiel forces himself onto his feet, walking over toward the living room instead.

“Is Dean there?” Michael asks.

“Yes.”

“Then no. Go home, and you can walk back to Adam’s tomorrow morning.”

Castiel sighs. “But—”

“Look, I’ve got a customer waiting. Just—go home, okay? Lucifer oughta be there tonight, so I’m gonna know if you don’t.”

The line goes silent then, and Castiel shoves his phone back into his pocket. He returns to the game room and sees that Anna and Jo seem to be asleep. Victor is stretched out on the floor, hands beneath his head and legs crossed at the ankles, but he opens his eyes when Castiel reenters, flashing a small smile in his direction. Adam is fiddling with the DVD player, and when Castiel turns, he sees Dean and Uriel in the kitchen, both peering into the fridge.

Surprised to see them together, he enters the kitchen and taps them on the shoulders. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice lowered.

“I was thinking about using the grill tomorrow,” Uriel says. “We were checking what kinds of meat Adam has on hand. If there’s nothing, we’ll have to go on a run tomorrow.”

“If we’re doing burgers though, we’re gonna have to make a run for buns and ketchup anyway,” Dean points out. Looking over at Castiel, he asks, “Can you stay?”

“No, but Michael doesn’t mind if I walk back over in the morning.”

“He’s never had any issues with you staying the night before,” Uriel says, eyes flicking to Dean.

“It’s because Lucifer is at home, today,” Castiel fibs. “With all the hours he spends at the hospital, he’s hardly ever at home. I don’t think I saw him at all, this week.”

“Dude, how is that even possible?” Dean asks.

“He’s doing his residency,” Uriel says. “The hours are brutal.”

“ _Inhumane_ is the word Lucifer likes to use,” Castiel says. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.” He exits the kitchen and motions to Adam that he’s leaving before heading for the front door.

“Hey, I’ll walk you back,” Dean says, catching up with him before he’s even gotten it open.

“Oh,” Castiel says, surprised. “It’s just the next house over. I won’t get kidnapped on my way there.”

“Better safe than sorry, eh?” Dean says, following Castiel out the front door.

“I suppose I can allow you to escort me, if it’ll put your mind at ease,” Castiel says, smiling. They make their way down the driveway toward the sidewalk—it’d be faster to cross straight through the lawn, but Castiel doesn’t mind prolonging his time with Dean.

“That’s very gracious of you,” Dean says with a short laugh.

They fall silent then, but it’s comfortable, and Castiel doesn’t feel like he’s struggling to think of something to say. Their shoulders brush every few steps, and as they get closer to Castiel’s house, they walk slower and slower. It’s comforting that Dean doesn’t want to separate from him, either.

When they reach the front door, Castiel turns to say good night, but the words die on his tongue when he sees the look on Dean’s face, the way his eyes catch the moonlight, the subtle twist of his lips into a small, barely noticeable smile. His hand wraps around Castiel’s wrist, gently squeezing, and Castiel sways forward a tiny bit, unable to help himself. Dean’s smile widens slightly, and when he starts to lean in, Castiel closes his eyes automatically, heart pounding.

But the kiss doesn’t come, and Castiel opens his eyes in time to see Dean’s head whipping to the side. Castiel has hardly had enough time to turn his own head when the front door swings inward, and he’s surprised that Dean was able to hear Lucifer coming through the door.

“Hello,” Lucifer says, looking back and forth between them. His eyes settle on Dean, and he asks, “Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Dean. I’m guessing you’re Lucifer.”

“And you’re correct,” Lucifer says, gaze shifting to Castiel for an explanation.

“He’s a new friend,” Castiel says. “From Truman High.”

“Truman? But why would you—oh, right. You had to transfer.”

Castiel nods. “He was just walking me home from Adam’s.”

“Why didn’t you just stay there?” Lucifer says, raising one eyebrow.

“Michael wanted me home,” Castiel replies. He turns to Dean then and says, “Thank you—I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, smiling. “Good night.” He releases Castiel’s wrist—Castiel hadn’t even realized that he was still holding it—and turns to walk away. “Oh, and it was nice meeting you!” he calls over his shoulder.

Lucifer just holds up a hand in acknowledgement before turning his eyes to Castiel. “Are you coming in, then, little brother?”

Castiel shuffles inside and moves to take off his shoes as Lucifer shuts and locks the door. When he looks up again, Lucifer is studying him, expression neutral, and Castiel wonders if Michael told him anything about Dean—it _has_ been nearly a week since Michael found out that Dean was around, after all.

“What are you looking at?” Castiel finally asks.

Lucifer shakes his head. “Nothing. Just—how long have you known him?”

“I met him on the second day of school,” Castiel answers. It’s only been a week and a half, he realizes.

“Ah,” Lucifer says. He opens his mouth again, as though to continue, but seems to think better of it, moving past Castiel instead.

Frowning, Castiel hurries to keep up. “Wait, what were you going to say?” he asks.

“Your birthday’s coming up,” Lucifer says, going past the dining table and into the living room, picking up a clipboard from the coffee table. “I managed to clear three hours to get dinner on Monday night. You’d better be free.”

“Of course,” Castiel says—he knows how difficult it is for Lucifer to wrangle some control over his work schedule at the hospital.

“Good, because I owe so many people favors, now,” Lucifer says. “And now we can tell Michael to find someone to cover for him.”

Castiel nods, moving around so that he can look his brother in the eye. “I look forward to it. But that wasn’t what you were going to say, earlier. It was about Dean, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Lucifer says, moving to sit down on the couch. “I just meant to say that he reminded me a lot of Michael, when he was in high school.”

“You barely saw him for a minute.”

“Yes, but the fact that he decided to walk you home from Adam’s house—” Lucifer pauses here to laugh, “—it’s excessively chivalrous, and exactly the sort of thing Michael used to do.” Patting the spot next to him on the couch, Lucifer says, “Here, sit down.”

Castiel does as he’s told, excited despite himself because he doesn’t get to hear much about Michael before he was an adult—in his memory, Michael has _always_ been wise and mature and responsible, and it’s refreshing to be reminded now and then that Michael is _human_ , too.

“Do you like him?” Lucifer asks.

“What?” Castiel says, because he hadn’t expected this. Perhaps he should have.

“Dean,” Lucifer says. “Do you like him?”

“He is a good friend,” Castiel answers hesitantly.

“Yes, I’m sure, but is that _all_ he is?” Lucifer asks. “You don’t have to lie to me. I won’t be angry.”

“He’s just a friend,” Castiel says firmly, doing his best to ignore the strange regret in his chest at the truth in those words.

“I can smell him all over you.”

“We were watching a movie. He was seated next to me,” Castiel says, knowing that it’s a lame excuse.

Lucifer is silent for a while, and then he says, “You know I won’t go straight to Michael, don’t you? You don’t need to keep anything from me. God knows he’s done enough of that protective big brother crap for the both of us, so you don’t have to worry about that from me.”

“There really is nothing between me and Dean,” Castiel insists.

“Okay, then,” Lucifer says, leaning back against the cushions and looking up at the ceiling. “But if there’s anything you’re afraid to take to Michael, you can tell me.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, shifting over to press his forehead to his brother’s jaw. He takes a quick breath, and the familiar smell is comforting, reassuring, grounding.

Lucifer allows the contact for a little while before saying, “All right, get off. You reek of that kid.”

Flushing, Castiel pulls back and gets to his feet. “It’s late. I’ll go get ready for bed,” he says.

Without waiting for a response, he heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Inside his room, he takes off his jacket and empties his pockets, placing his wallet, keys, and cell phone on his nightstand before beginning to remove his belt. A little light is blinking on his phone, indicating that he has an unread message, so he picks it up and finds a text from Dean.

_Ur not in trouble, r u?_

Smiling, Castiel types in, _No_ , and hits send.

The response is immediate. _Ok, good. C u tmrw._

Castiel almost types “I miss you already,” but stops himself just in time, putting his phone down before he can do anything impulsive.

He finishes taking off his belt and drops it on his bed before grabbing a pair of clean sweats and going to the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Castiel wakes at about seven and gets out of bed—he knows from experience that once awake, he will not be able to fall asleep again easily. He goes to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, not bothering with his hair because it’s a battle already lost.

Around seven thirty, he goes downstairs, backpack slung over his shoulder, and finds Lucifer and Michael both passed out on the couch, the TV still on at a low volume. Frowning, he turns off the TV, tiptoes around them to the storage closet under the stairs, and tugs out two blankets. It’s easy to catch a cold, sleeping without covers—Michael taught Castiel that himself. Really, the two of them should know better than this, Castiel thinks.

He covers Lucifer first, and then Michael, careful to set the blankets down gently so that his brothers won’t wake. Michael, of course, stirs as soon as the blanket is up to his shoulders.

“Mm—Cas?”

“Why are you both out here?” Castiel asks in a hushed voice.

Michael’s eyes find his twin, leaning against the opposite arm of the couch, and he says, “We were just talking.” Yawning, he tugs the blanket up farther, holding the upper edge to his chin. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Castiel can’t help but smile. Michael never uses nicknames for him unless he’s really tired, and Castiel wonders how late his brothers were up. He picks up Lucifer’s clipboard and frowns—his schedule really does seem impossible, with even the hours meant for sleep scheduled in. A half-hour block at noon on Tuesday is labeled, “Sleep/eat, as nec”— _sleep or eat, as necessary_ , Castiel interprets.

He double-checks to make sure that Lucifer does indeed have Saturday morning free, and sees that he doesn’t need to be at work until nine o’clock today, so he has perhaps another hour left to sleep. Castiel resolves to give him a call around eight thirty, just to make sure he’s awake.

After leaving a note on the whiteboard by the front door, Castiel slips out of the house and jogs across the lawn. As he reaches Adam’s house, he notices Mrs. Milligan’s car pulling out of the driveway—she must have the eight-to-five shift, today. He waves when she looks in his direction, and she smiles and waves back before backing onto the street and then driving away.

Castiel goes to the front door and enters with the spare key, making sure to close the door quietly when he’s inside. He moves through the house cautiously, because it’s unlikely that anyone is awake right now.

Sure enough, all six occupants of the room are unconscious. Anna and Jo are still right where Castiel left them last night, except they’re covered by an extra blanket now, and only two tufts of hair, one red and one blonde, are visible. Uriel is stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on one armrest and his head on the other. Victor and Adam are both in sleeping bags that are parallel to the couch, and Dean is lying on top of a bed sheet, his leather jacket over his torso as a makeshift blanket.

Frowning, Castiel sets his backpack down next to the coffee table and takes off his own jacket to add it over Dean’s—figures that he would insist on making sure that the others are warm and comfortable, without any care for his own arrangements. _Excessively chivalrous_ , Castiel hears in Lucifer’s voice, and in this moment, he sees just how true it is.

Castiel sits down on the ground in front of the coffee table and moves a few magazines out of the way, clearing a space for his math book. Then he extracts a sheet of lined paper from his binder and copies down the assigned problem numbers in the top margin. Usually, he starts his math homework as soon as he gets home from school, but he spent the two hours before the football game yesterday reviewing for the first anatomy test of the year instead, and he obviously had no time to work after the game.

It’s fine, though, because the section they covered on Friday was relatively simple, and he likes math, anyway.

* * *

Dean wakes up to the smell of bacon, which might just be his favorite thing to wake up to, ever, and he wonders if he’s still dreaming—Mom wouldn’t be making him bacon for breakfast, Dad wouldn’t be up this early, and Sammy hasn’t touched the stove since he almost set the house on fire last year.

But when he stretches a little, blinking himself fully awake, he realizes that the bed underneath him is unreasonably hard because it isn’t a bed at all. He’s lying on the floor, and this is not his house.

And then he catches sight of the back of Victor’s head, poking out of a sleeping bag, and remembers that he decided to sleep over at Adam’s house. So is Adam making breakfast?

Dean shifts, turning onto his back because his shoulder and hip are definitely bruising after being up against the floor all night, and tugs his jacket up a little because he’s not quite ready to get up yet. But a wave of a familiar scent, not his own, follows the jacket up, and Dean realizes that the material brushing against his mouth and chin is not leather.

He inhales again, and this time he picks up apple and cinnamon and _Cas_ , and just lets himself sink into the scent for a minute, starting to drift off again.

No, wait.

If Cas’s jacket is here, that means Cas is back already. So Dean sits up, looking around the room. Uriel hasn’t moved, and Adam is still on the other side of Victor. He can’t see Anna and Jo, but he assumes that the lump of blankets is them, which means Cas is the blessed provider of bacon on this morning.

He gets to his feet, shrugging his own jacket back on, and walks into the kitchen as quietly as he can. Cas’s back is to him, and Dean allows himself to imagine, just for a second, how perfect it would be if he could just nose into the back of Cas’s neck, kiss the knob of his spine that’s only just visible over the neck of his shirt.

Then he crosses the room and drapes Cas’s jacket back over his shoulders. Cas stiffens—instinct, probably—and Dean smooths his hands up and down Cas’s upper arms.

“Morning,” he says, keeping his voice low. His hands are still on Cas’s arms, and he’s close enough to catch the minute shudder that runs through Cas when he hears Dean’s voice. God, that strip of his neck is looking _really_ delectable.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, leaning back into his touch _just_ a little.

Dean smiles and pulls away, stepping to the side to take a look at what Cas has got cooking. “That looks awesome,” he says.

“I’ll count it as a miracle if I don’t burn anything,” Cas says. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled is fine,” Dean says, because Cas doesn’t look very experienced in front of a stove, and scrambled is probably easiest. “You didn’t have to make breakfast, y’know.”

“I was starting to get hungry, anyway,” Cas says. “Math tends to have that effect.”

“You were doing your math homework?” Dean says, brows shooting up.

“Yes. You were all asleep, and I didn’t have the time to start yesterday.”

Dean smiles. “Well, good for you,” he says. He usually doesn’t start his math homework until maybe 10 PM the night before it’s due, but it’s fine because he gets it in on time.

It’s quiet for a while, Dean content to watch Cas push the strips of bacon around in the pan. Deeming them ready, he scoops the finished strips into three plates, two in each, and lays some new ones down in the pan.

“Are you doing anything Monday night?” Dean asks. After Dean got back from walking Cas home last night, Victor told him that Cas’s birthday will be on Monday, and Dean spent a good half hour or so debating about whether or not he should ask him out.

“I don’t…” Cas starts, but then he pauses, and the little bit of hope Dean had starts dwindling. Then Cas says, “Actually, I have to have dinner with Lucifer. He isn’t home often, for dinner.”

“Oh,” Dean says, trying to mask his disappointment.

“Why?” Cas asks, eyes flicking up to look at him.

“Uh, nothing. Just curious.”

Cas narrows his eyes, spatula hovering over the pan of sizzling bacon. “You’re lying to me,” Cas says.

“What—how do you—no, I’m not,” Dean sputters, caught off-guard.

“I see,” Cas says, still eyeing Dean skeptically.

It takes less than thirty seconds for Dean to break. “Okay, fine, maybe I wanted to uh, to take you to dinner, because Monday’s your birthday.”

The doubt on Cas’s face lifts away immediately, replaced by a wide-eyed look that Dean really, really likes. Cas turns quickly to the bacon strips, flipping them over two at a time with his spatula, but he can’t hide the blush that’s creeping up to his cheeks.

“If you weren’t busy, would you uh, would you have said yes?” Dean dares to ask.

Cas’s scent is largely masked by the smell of bacon, but Dean still catches a hint of sourness, the same tartness that he’d smelled in the car last night, and it gives him confidence.

“I don’t know,” Cas answers, obviously avoiding Dean’s eyes. “I’m not good at hypothetical situations.”

“Okay,” Dean says, leaning his hip against the counter and folding his arms across his chest. “What do you say to a belated birthday dinner with me, then? Tuesday night, around six?”

Cas finally looks in his direction, probably trying to gauge his sincerity, and he blinks twice, owlishly, before opening his mouth to speak.

“Oh god, ew!” Jo’s voice drifts in from the other room, and Dean thinks he could freaking _kill_ her for her timing, because Cas’s eyes shift over Dean’s shoulder, looking over the counter at where Jo’s head and shoulders have appeared. “Who the hell was doing _math_ homework?”

Victor groans, grumbling something unintelligibly, and Dean thinks he hears more movement in the other room, but damn it, Cas’s attention is back on the bacon now, flipping it again. Jo enters the kitchen, following her nose, and Dean gives her a murderous look.

She, of course, ignores him completely and goes to Cas’s other side. “Oh my _god_. If that’s for us, then I think I can overlook the fact that you were working on limits before 10 AM on a Saturday.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being studious,” Cas says, sounding a little relieved, and Dean frowns, because he’d been so sure that Cas would say yes. Is that—shit, is he relieved because he didn’t have to let Dean down gently?

“ _Hey_ ,” Dean says, reaching behind Cas to bat at Jo’s hand because she’s going for one of the plates of cooked bacon by Cas’s right elbow.

“It’s for us, anyway,” Jo protests, skipping out of his reach.

“It’s fine,” Cas says, turning toward Dean.

He catches Dean’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, and Dean can only watch as Jo snags two pieces of bacon and makes her escape. He would call her greedy, except that she probably grabbed an extra for Anna, with the way they’ve been cozying up to each other in the past couple of days.

“Yes,” Cas says, quietly, before releasing Dean’s wrist.

It takes a second for the word to sink in, and Dean’s hand remains hovering where it was as Cas turns back to the stove to plate the next six strips, replacing the two that Jo filched before setting the rest on two new plates.

“Are you serious?” Dean asks.

“Were you?” Cas responds, putting some more bacon in the pan.

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” Dean says without hesitation.

“Then so was I,” Cas says.

Dean breaks into a wide smile, and Cas just gets redder and redder each time he catches Dean staring, unable to stop smiling, until he demands that Dean either help or get out. So Dean gets the carton of eggs from the fridge and beats them while Cas finishes the last batch of bacon.

Doesn’t stop him from smiling, though.

* * *

“Oh, so the boy _does_ remember where he lives,” is the first thing Dean hears when he pushes the front door open, and okay, maybe it’s been a while since Dean last slept over at a friend’s house, but really, it’s not even past 8 PM yet.

“Be quiet, John,” Mom says as Dean walks past the living room. “How’s Adam?”

“He’s fine,” Dean answers, pausing to glance at the TV. They’re watching a documentary on the History Channel. From the narration, it sounds like something about the Cold War.

“So, do tell. Who are you chasing after this time, hmm?” Dad asks.

“Who says I’m chasing after anybody?”

“Don’t kid yourself. I haven’t seen you running off to anyone’s house two weekends in a row since you were in middle school, not unless there was a pretty omega involved,” Dad says. “I’m assuming she’s a friend of Adam’s.”

“John,” Mom says admonishingly, and then she gets to her feet and steers Dean into the kitchen.

“I’m not hungry,” he says. “We ordered Chinese for dinner like an hour ago.”

“Hmm. I hope you haven’t been eating out for every meal of the day,” Mom says, sitting Dean down at the kitchen table anyway.

“We didn’t. We grilled burgers for lunch, and Cas made breakfast for us,” Dean says.

“Who’s Cas?” Mom asks as she goes over to the stove and lifts the lid off a pot.

Shit. “New friend,” Dean says. “He’s on the swim team with Adam.”

“Mhmm,” Mom says, grabbing a ladle. “Well, tell me about him.”

“Huh? There’s nothing to tell,” Dean says. “I just met him on the first week of school when I went to talk to Adam.”

Mom walks over to the kitchen table and leans on the edge of it, looking down at Dean. “You know, I was talking about Adam, not Cas.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Dean says, startled. “Oh, yeah, uh. Adam’s not having trouble adjusting at all. His friends transferred over too, and he’s got a close alpha friend to look after him, shouldn’t have any problems.”

“I’m sure,” Mom says, smiling. “ _Now_ , tell me about Cas.”

Dean shakes his head, eyes on the table. “I already said there’s nothing to tell,” he says.

“Just tell me what he looks like, then.”

“Why would you even—”

“Because I’m curious,” Mom says, taking a sip out of the cup, and now that it’s closer, Dean thinks he can smell chocolate. But he can’t be sure, because Mom’s always had a sort of salted-chocolate smell, rich and warm and soothing.

“He’s—I don’t know, he’s just _Cas_ ,” Dean says. “He has messy, dark hair, and really blue eyes, and—”

“Really blue?”

“Did I say really blue?” Dean says, backtracking. “No, I meant they’re really big, but uh, but they’re really blue too, I guess. _Really_ blue.”

“What does he smell like?” Mom asks, closing her eyes.

Dean follows her example and shuts his own eyes, and the first thing that comes to mind is _mine_. But Jesus, he can’t say that to his _mom_. Dean opens his mouth to respond, but he hears the mug land on the table in front of him, and looks up to see Mom watching him carefully. She immediately turns her eyes away, but he has the sense that she’s just seen right through him, even though he hasn’t said a word.

“New recipe,” she says, pushing the mug toward him. “Wanted you to be my taste tester.”

“What are you even talking about? Everything you make is awesome,” Dean says, leaning forward to take a whiff. Sure enough, it’s hot chocolate, but richer, maybe a little spicier than usual. He lifts the mug to his lips to take a sip, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Dad entering the kitchen and making a beeline for the fridge—probably to grab a beer.

“Oh, don’t say _that_. John’s never had discerning taste buds, and Sam’s no better. You’re my only hope, Dean,” Mom says.

“Y’know, I resent that,” Dad says.

“Hush. You know it’s true,” Mom says before looking at Dean for the verdict.

“It’s richer than the last batch… but maybe a little too much on the sweet side,” Dean decides.

“See, that’s what I thought!” Mom says. “Thank _god_ you’re not both exactly like your father.”

“I resent _that_ , too,” Dad says, striding out of the kitchen.

Mom laughs before asking, “Do you want to finish that up, or should I save it for the guys who don’t know the difference?”

“I’ll take it up to Sam,” Dean says. “Is he in his room?”

“Yeah. And be patient with him, all right? I think he has a question to ask you,” Mom says, smiling.

“What? What question?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mom says enigmatically, turning away to go back to the stove.

“C’mon, Mom. What is it?”

“Go talk to your brother.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean grabs the mug and heads out of the kitchen, wondering what the hell Mom would want him to talk to Sam about. Shit, if that one kid is giving Sam trouble again, Dean’s gonna rip his lungs out, for real this time.

Outside Sam’s room, Dean peeks in through the open door and sees that Sam is at his desk, writing. Dean steps forward and knocks twice on the door before walking in.

“Oh, hey, Dean,” Sam says, quickly dragging a notebook over to cover whatever he was just writing.

“Brought you some of Mom’s hot chocolate,” Dean says.

Sam’s face falls a little. “Oh god, I swear, she’s obsessed,” he says. “I seriously can’t taste the difference. It’s all the same to me, and she just keeps making more. If I drink one more cup of hot chocolate, I’ll be _peeing_ hot chocolate.”

Dean can’t help but laugh as he sets the cup down on Sam’s desk. “What’re you writing?” he asks, looking down at the edges that are still showing around the notebook.

“Uh, nothing,” Sam says, completely unconvincingly, and Dean wonders whether he’s just as easy to read to his mom. Probably, come to think of it.

“Okay, then,” Dean says. “Is school okay? That one kid still—”

“Oh, it’s fine. He hasn’t come near me since school started,” Sam says. “You scared him pretty bad.”

“Yeah well, serves him right. He’s only bigger than the rest o’ you kids ‘cause he got held back two years in a row. He’s got nothing to be proud of.”

“I don’t think he’s all bad,” Sam says. “He doesn’t actually have that many friends.”

“Like I said, serves him right,” Dean says, shrugging.

Sam frowns, but Dean’s not about to change his mind. That idiot kid roughed Sam up pretty bad last year, and his only punishment had been a couple detentions. Dean had fixed that by showing up with a bat and bashing the hell out of a trash can while the kid was watching. He might have said something along the lines of using that kid for batting practice next, and Mom had grounded him for two weeks, but it was worth it, and at least no one got hurt, right? Dad had approved, anyway.

“Well, if everything’s fine, I’m gonna go take a shower,” Dean says, starting to back up.

He moves a little slower than usual, expecting a question, but it doesn’t come even when he’s already exited the room. Frowning, he makes his way down the hall to his own room, and he’s only just hung his jacket up on the back of his chair when there’s a light rap on the door to his room.

“Yeah,” Dean says, turning to see Sam standing in the doorway.

“Uh… Dean, how do you talk to girls?”

* * *

“Y’know, we could have chosen a better place than _this_ ,” Lucifer says, nose wrinkling in distaste as he looks around the dim restaurant.

“I have it on good authority that this place serves the best burgers in the state,” Michael says. “I’ll take us somewhere fancy for our birthday, all right? This is for Castiel.”

Lucifer sighs and shakes his head. “I’ve never understood the appeal of the _burger_. It’s greasy, it gets your fingers dirty, and—”

“It’s delicious,” Castiel interrupts without looking up from the menu.

“Yes, well. To your palate, apparently,” Lucifer says.

A waitress comes by to take their orders a few minutes later, and when she’s gone, Castiel looks across the table at his two brothers, both older than him by almost ten full years. They’re not paying much attention to him at the moment, busy bickering over something or other, the way they always seem to be when they’re together for any length of time.

They practically _are_ his parents, especially Michael, Castiel thinks. Their mother died giving birth to him, so Castiel has no memories of her, only knows what she looks like because he’s seen a few pictures of her. Father disappeared when he was only four years old, so he has very few memories of him, too.

Michael had only been fourteen, and they would have ended up in the system if it hadn’t been for Joshua, a kind, old friend of their father’s. The old man didn’t have enough money to support so many children, so Michael had gone out to find work mowing lawns or babysitting, doing whatever he could. He hadn’t allowed Lucifer or Raphael to help, made sure that they spent their time at school.

According to Lucifer, Michael met Bobby during this time and was only hired on full-time because Bobby was secretly a saint, taking pity on their situation—he paid and trained Michael at the same time.

The old gardener passed away when Castiel was nine, and he remembers moving back into the old house, the one that Father had left for them when he vanished. Castiel hadn’t really understood what was happening, but he knows now that Michael had signed on as legal guardian for his three younger brothers. In a few years, Castiel will be nineteen, but he highly doubts he would be able to manage what Michael did.

Michael paid for Lucifer’s first year of tuition at KU Lawrence entirely on his own steam, while keeping the rest of the family fed and sheltered. Lucifer took a job of his own and signed on a student loan for the remaining three years’ worth of tuition, but at least they were able to save on room and board. Castiel supposes that that’s small fish compared to the huge amount of debt they eventually accumulated through medical school tuition, but Lucifer insists on paying that off without Michael’s help.

Raphael chose a local community college instead, citing cheaper tuition and unclear career goals as his reasons. Michael seemed disappointed that he didn’t want to go to a four-year institution, but it probably would have been a waste—Raphael is working in the Peace Corps, and the last time they heard from him, it seems he likes what he’s doing. At least they don’t have any debt under his name.

Gabriel dutifully applied to the schools that Michael chose for him, and he selected Kansas City, saying that he couldn’t stand living in the same house all his life. He’s supposedly working as a writing tutor, but Castiel doesn’t know whether or not he believes that—he’s seen Gabriel’s writing, and it is not good enough for him to be giving other people advice.

Michael hasn’t quite started hounding Castiel on which schools he wants to apply to next year, but Castiel anticipates that the conversations will start soon, given the timing of Michael’s rough spots with Raphael and Gabriel.

“Castiel,” Michael says, and Castiel blinks a few times and finds both his brothers looking at him. They may be fraternal twins, but their looks of concern are identical enough. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers, suddenly feeling surprisingly emotional.

Michael spent his teenage years mowing lawns and fixing cars to put food on the table for his little brothers, and even now, he spends his days at Singer Auto and his nights working the bar at Mike’s Old Grill and Pub to pay off student loans that aren’t his, yet as soon as Castiel shows even a tiny sign of discontent, Michael is the one to ask whether or not things are all right with him.

Castiel doesn’t usually think much of his older brother’s work, too caught up in day-to-day life—tests, quizzes, homework, friends, swim practice—and Michael never mentions how much stress he must be feeling, downplaying his own sacrifices and placing others first, and ridiculously, Castiel feels his eyes prickling. Excessively chivalrous, indeed.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Castiel manages.

Michael frowns. “You’re not sick, are you?” he says, leaning over to press a hand to Castiel’s forehead.

“Of course not,” Castiel says, swatting his brother’s hand out of the way. “I just—really wanted to say thank you.”

“Have I done something lately?” Michael asks, glancing over at Lucifer.

“Take him seriously, would you?” Lucifer just says.

“For what, then?” Michael says, turning his full attention back on Castiel.

“Everything,” Castiel says. “This birthday dinner, my jacket, my shoes, my phone, my—”

“Okay, no, stop, stop, stop,” Michael says, holding up a hand.

“You shouldn’t have had to step into Father’s shoes like that, but you did. You could have forced us to help you make a living, and we wouldn’t have had any right to complain, but you didn’t. And I—”

Michael leans farther forward, shoving his hand over Castiel’s mouth this time. “ _Stop_.” Sighing, he says, “I didn’t do any of it to hear you thank me, all right? That wouldn’t have been—” he shakes his head and starts over, “It was my job to look after you guys, so that’s all I did. You don’t owe anyone thanks for just doing their job.”

Lucifer smiles a little sadly at Castiel when Michael pulls his hand back. “Believe me, I’ve tried that speech before. Pretty sure Gabriel’s the only one of us who hasn’t,” he says.

“That’s because Gabriel is an ingrate who thinks he deserves everything he gets,” Castiel replies.

“Wow, thank you for that _lovely_ account of my character. I don’t think I could have said it better myself.”

Startled, Castiel twists in his seat in time to receive a hug from Gabriel, who then squeezes past him to take the chair on his left. “I thought you said you couldn’t come,” Castiel says. “Liar.”

“I just wanted to surprise you,” he says, smiling. “And don’t you say anything about me not thinking things through—I even called my order in ahead of time.”

“How did you know we would be eating here?” Castiel asks. He casts accusing eyes on Michael and Lucifer, who just laugh.

“Happy birthday, Cas. You’re finally an adult!” Gabriel says, ruffling his hair.

Castiel shoves his hand away and protests, “You wouldn’t do that to an adult.”

“No, but I’m always gonna have the right to mess with my baby brother, adult or not,” Gabriel says.

Castiel just sighs and waits for their food to be brought out.

* * *

Later that night, Castiel has just started to drift off when his cell phone rings, loud and obnoxious. He jolts awake and grabs his phone, answering it without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hello, Cas.”

Over the phone, his voice sounds slightly different, but it’s still unmistakable—“ _Raphael?_ ”

“Yeah. I almost forgot today was your birthday. But I checked the time—it’s still the eighteenth in Kansas, right?” Raphael says.

Castiel pulls his phone away from his ear to check before replying, “Yes. It’s just past eleven, so you made it on time.”

“Excellent.”

“How are you? It’s been so long since you last called.”

“Yeah, the situation here isn’t so great. We’ve got a ton of refugees from Iraq, but there have been people just pouring in from Lebanon since the war ended,” Raphael says.

Castiel is ashamed to realize that he had hardly even been aware that there _was_ a war. He’s heard snatches of news reports about something going on between Israel and Lebanon, but it’s never concerned him.

Meanwhile, Raphael continues, “We’re always running low on supplies. It’s a good thing Michael got us used to living frugal, eh?”

Castiel smiles. “I suppose so, yes.”

Raphael shouts something in a language that Castiel does not understand, but it sounds like Arabic. Then he says, “I have to go. Someone’s just dropped a—” more shouted Arabic, and then he says, “Sorry, Cas. Happy birthday!”

“It’s all right. Thank you, Raphael.”

“I’ll call you again soon.”

With that, Raphael hangs up, and Castiel is left staring at his phone for a long moment, contemplative. He doesn’t think he could ever just uproot himself like that, move to a hostile, non-English-speaking territory, and work tirelessly for the benefit of others who are unrelated to him. He thinks that he would be able to work at a shelter here, in the U.S., but he really does not know how Raphael does it.

Castiel has considered many professions over the course of his relatively short life—becoming a doctor, a lawyer, a businessman, a pharmacist, a social worker, even a linguist—but in this moment, thinking about his future, he truly has no idea what he wants to do, and it’s almost terrifying.

Setting his phone aside, he closes his eyes and tries to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel fidgets in his seat.

The bell just rang, signaling the end of fifth period, but Mr. Jones is still finishing up some equations on the board. Uriel is packed up already—he has sixth period calculus, and Mr. Turner _hates_ it when people are late—but Castiel is still copying his notes down dutifully; Mr. Murphy, the art history teacher, is lenient with people who come in up to five minutes after the bell, so he has more time.

“All right, fine. You can go,” Mr. Jones says, and the class shoots to its feet almost simultaneously.

Uriel bolts without even saying goodbye, and Victor follows close behind.

“Cas, I gotta get to work,” Dean says. “See you tonight at six, though, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

Castiel pauses halfway through shoving his binder into his backpack to smile up at Dean. “See you then.”

Another student crashes into Dean while he’s distracted, and he gets out a quick, “Hey, watch it!” before smiling back at Castiel.

“Go on. Don’t be late to work,” Castiel urges.

Dean nods and heads out. Castiel gets to his feet and pulls his backpack up onto his chair to put his pencil away. Behind him, someone taps on his shoulder.

“Oh, Luther,” he says. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have class after this?”

“No,” Luther replies. “I was actually wondering—why is Dean picking you up, tonight?”

Castiel zips his backpack shut and swings it over one shoulder before turning to face his friend. “It’s a belated birthday dinner,” he says. “I turned sixteen yesterday.”

“Oh hey, finally legal, eh?”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I suppose so.”

It registers with him then that the classroom has emptied out, and when he looks toward the front, he sees that Mr. Jones has gone as well—he teaches sixth period swimming PE, if Castiel remembers correctly, so it makes sense.

“I should go,” Castiel says. “I have to get to class.”

“Hey, wait,” Luther says, a hand wrapping around Castiel’s forearm. “Talk to me for a while.”

“I have class,” Castiel says, all of Uriel’s warnings suddenly rising up in his head, blaring ridiculously loudly, and shit—Uriel’s in class, Victor’s in class, Dean’s well on his way to work by now, and Mr. Jones is already gone to teach his next class—

“Realized your little predicament, haven’t you?” Luther says, lips curling into a predatory leer.

Castiel tries to bolt, but the grip on his arm becomes bruising, and Luther yanks him back. Castiel turns and borrows the momentum of Luther’s pull, lifting his right fist for a punch. But Luther’s reflexes are too quick, or maybe he’d expected this response, because he catches Castiel’s fist easily.

“No!” Castiel snarls, kicking Luther in the shin.

The sudden pain startles Luther into loosening his hands, and Castiel breaks away, spinning to make a run for it. Luther nabs his backpack, and Castiel only pauses long enough to shrug it off his shoulder, but it’s _just_ too long, and Luther’s hand latches onto his upper arm.

Castiel is prepared to be pulled back and tries to run faster, but to his surprise, Luther propels him forward. He realizes too late what Luther’s plan is, and before he knows it, the alpha has steered him into the wall right by the door, slamming him against it painfully. Castiel makes a grab for the door handle, but it’s just out of his reach, and Luther snatches his hand, pinning it behind his back.

“No, no, _no_ —”

“Oh, quit whining, you little bitch,” Luther says, grabbing Castiel’s other flailing hand and pinning it behind his back as well. Tears spring to Castiel’s eyes when his attempts to twist away are fruitless. And then Luther is pressing in close, shoving Castiel’s arms up so that he can roll his hips forward.

Castiel can feel a bulge in the denim, can smell a spike in alpha pheromones in the air, but it disgusts him, terrifies him, and he wants more than anything to get out, to get _away_ —

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Luther says, rutting against Castiel. “It’s gonna feel so good to get inside you.”

“Get _away_ from me!”

“Now, now, you just be quiet. We’ve got a whole class period to ourselves, so that’s plenty of time to get all knotted up, nice and tight.”

“Why are you doing this?” Castiel cries out, tugging at his arms in vain.

“Why? I’m doing this because it’s what you’re _made_ for, omega. You were made to be an alpha’s little breeding bitch, and today, I’m gonna breed you,” Luther says.

“No—no, I haven’t even—I’m not—” —not _fertile_ , he doesn’t want to say aloud.

“ _Oh_. You haven’t even gone through your first heat, yet,” Luther realizes.

Castiel wriggles, shutting his eyes and _willing_ Luther’s grip to loosen, because it has to—it _has_ to. This isn’t going to happen—it _can’t_ happen.

Luther laughs, maniacal and horrifying. “Oh god, this is _perfect_.”

* * *

Dean’s phone beeps with a text message alert, and he pauses to pull it out—his phone shouldn’t have the sound still on, and he’s lucky it didn’t go off in class. He hasn’t even read the message yet when he frowns, realizing belatedly that his pocket was empty apart from his phone. He sticks his hand back in his pocket, and sure enough, his keys aren’t there.

What the fuck?

Dean stops, thinking, and remembers taking his car keys out when the bell rang, but he’d had to wait because freakin’ Jones wouldn’t stop writing those equations on the board. He must’ve dropped them in the room.

“Goddamn it,” Dean curses, turning and jogging back toward D Wing.

It takes him maybe a minute to get to the building, and when he reaches the door to the classroom, he pulls it open and is hit in the face by the smells of distress and terror and _Cas_.

Dean immediately steps into the room and spots the pair to his right, Cas pinned up against the wall and possibly crying. He uses the moment of surprise to yank the offending alpha away from Cas, landing a solid punch to the guy’s face.

“The fuck?” Dean gets out, turning toward the guy as he falls back, and he realizes belatedly that the world has gone an alarming shade of red, the alpha inside him right at the surface.

“Dean?” the alpha says, and fucking—it’s _Luther_ , that piece of _shit_ —

Dean starts toward him, but Cas barrels into his chest, clinging to his shoulders. Luther seems unwilling to fight Dean, grabbing his bag from where it’d fallen to the floor before booking it out of the room. God, Dean’s itching to go after him, but Cas is trembling against his chest, arms wrapped so tight around him that Dean doesn’t know if he’d be able to pry him off, even if he wanted to.

“It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay,” Dean says, soothing a hand down Cas’s back. “He’s gone.”

“Dean,” is all Cas says, voice shaky, and something inside Dean crumbles a little.

“Damn it,” he mutters, bringing his other hand up to cup the back of Cas’s head. “Never should’ve left you up here on your own. Not while he was still in the room.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Cas says, quietly. “ _I_ didn’t even know.”

“No, I—god, I knew better,” Dean protests, but he says no more—Cas doesn’t really need Dean taking blame right now. What he needs is a rock, and Dean’s willing to be that rock, for him. “Here, you can let go of me. Let me give you a ride home, okay?”

“I don’t—”

“You’ll feel better at home,” Dean says firmly. When Cas still doesn’t budge, Dean squeezes him gently and asks, “Do you trust me?”

There’s a brief pause, and then Cas backs up slightly, head tilting back to look at him. “Yes,” he says.

“Okay. Let me drive you home, then, and we’ll take it from there.”

Cas nods, and Dean gives him an encouraging smile before moving to pick up Cas’s backpack. Looking over, he catches sight of his keys on the ground—he’s got no clue how the hell he would’ve dropped them, but he goes over to snatch them up before returning to Cas and leading him out of the classroom.

The drive to Cas’s house is quiet, Dean leaving one hand on the bench seat between them because Cas seems to feel better when he’s holding onto some part of Dean. At the house, Cas casts a worried look in Dean’s direction, biting his lip.

“I’ll come in, if you need me to,” Dean says.

“I don’t—I don’t need you to, but I’d rather not be alone right now,” Cas admits, unable to meet Dean’s eyes.

“I’ll stay with you, then.”

Cas looks surprised. “But you have work, don’t you?”

“It’s fine. I’ll give Bobby a call, say that something came up,” Dean says. It’s not as though he needs the money—Dad made him get this job as a _character building_ exercise.

“Thank you, then.”

“Hey, it’s no problem.”

They get out of the car and walk over to Cas’s house, and Dean realizes that this time he’ll actually get to go inside, see the place where Cas grew up. But the reason why he’s going inside is all sorts of wrong, and Dean can’t really feel excited about it.

Cas lets them in the front door, making sure that it’s safely locked behind them before instructing Dean to take off his shoes and then leading him down a short hallway that opens up on the right into a living room—there’s a door on the left, but it’s closed.

“You can sit,” Cas says, indicating the couch that’s placed up against the wall.

Dean sits down, looking around at the room—Cas has gone back into the hallway that they came from. Directly across from Dean is kind of a small TV. Not tiny, but a lot smaller than Dean is used to. Several yards away is what seems to be a dining table, meant to seat four, but it’s a little bit longer than it is wide, so it could probably seat six, too, with a little squeeze. Beyond the dining table is the kitchen—from here, the fridge is clearly visible.

Then Cas returns with a blanket, dropping it on the opposite end of the couch before sitting down next to Dean. He wavers there, uncertain, and Dean reaches for him, gesturing for him to come closer. Cas lets out a sigh of what might be relief before shifting over to Dean’s side, pulling the blanket along with him. Dean lifts his arm to let it rest around Cas’s shoulders, and Cas twists toward Dean, pressing his forehead to the bolt of Dean’s jaw.

Dean’s startled by the gesture—it’s usually only done between family members, because it positions the nose of one right by the neck of the other. _Optimizing scent intake_ , Dean’s biology teacher had said.

“Oh, I need to call Bobby,” Dean says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Cas doesn’t move, so Dean dials Bobby’s number and holds his phone to his right ear.

“Hello, you’ve reached Singer Auto; this is Michael speaking.”

Shit. “Uh, hey. It’s Dean.”

“Oh. Well, you’re late. Where are you?” Michael asks.

“Uh, something came up, and I’m not gonna be able to make it in, today,” Dean says.

“Hmm. Okay, I’ll tell Bobby. You got anything more specific, or is that it?”

“Um… it’s… probably something you should know,” Dean says, shifting to look at Cas. He finds Cas looking back up at him, and then Cas reaches for the phone.

“What is it?” Michael asks, a note of concern entering his voice.

“Just hold on a sec.”

Dean passes the phone over to Cas, who says, “Hello, Michael. Please don’t panic.”

Naturally, the response is shouted, though it’s garbled enough that Dean can’t make out actual words. Cas explains the situation quickly and efficiently, given that he’s clearly still more than a little traumatized, and then he’s pressing the phone back into Dean’s hand and leaning in again, coming in closer this time.

“It’s Dean again.”

“Yes. Thank you for taking care of Castiel,” Michael says. “He… said that I don’t need to come home. I just wanted to make sure that you’re all right with staying there, for now. At least until Adam gets home from school.”

“It’s fine,” Dean says. “I’ll stay as long as he needs me.”

“All right. Again, thank you, Dean.”

* * *

Almost an hour later, Dean hears a key turning in the lock of the front door, and he glances down at Cas, whose head is resting on Dean’s chest—they kinda shuffled around a little, and Cas is practically in Dean’s lap now, the blanket tucked in securely around both of them.

“Cas,” Dean says, shaking him a little. “I think Adam’s here.”

Footsteps come closer, but Cas doesn’t move, and Dean isn’t about to push him away, so he just continues to hold him.

“Hey, Cas,” Adam says, appearing at the end of the couch.

Cas turns his head away from Dean for a moment, looking over his shoulder at Adam, and says, “Can you stay?” When Adam nods, Cas pulls away, and Dean lifts his arm so that Cas can get out from under it. He lifts a corner of the blanket for Adam to get in on his other side. To be honest, it’s kinda stifling down here, but Dean can’t really complain.

“Anna’s outside,” Adam says, sliding in under the cover and scooting closer.

“I don’t want to see another alpha right now,” Cas says quietly, but his hand slips into Dean’s and holds on tight. Dean glances at Adam and finds him looking right back with a slight frown.

“I’ll send her a text, then,” Adam says.

“Tell her that I’m fine. I’ll see her at school tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

As Adam taps the message out on his phone, Dean looks back at the TV. He and Cas have been watching reruns of _The Twilight Zone_ on Sci-Fi, and they’re almost at the end of an episode now. Dean hasn’t really been paying attention, but he remembers that this was the one with an airplane that kept flying back and forth in time, or something like that.

“Have you thought about what you want us to do to—to the guy who…” Adam’s voice falters a little, and his gaze lands on Dean, clearly looking for help.

But Cas doesn’t give Dean a chance to speak. “Dean found me in time. Nothing happened. I don’t want people to know,” he says.

“But what if he hadn’t gotten to you in time, Cas? What if it’s a different omega next time, and there’s no one to come in and save them?” Adam asks.

“Hey, you can’t put that on his shoulders,” Dean says.

Cas sighs. “No, he’s right. But I just…”

“Don’t want to be seen as a victim,” Dean finishes for him. Sam had said something similar after Dean’s display at his middle school last year. “Nobody can decide this for you, but you should talk to Michael about it when he gets home. We can keep this quiet, maybe only let the teachers know. And then they’ll keep an eye on Luther.”

“I want him punished,” Adam says quietly.

“Me too, believe me,” Dean says. “But as it is, we’d only have his word, mine, and Cas’s, with no witnesses. It’d be so easy for the school to just dismiss it as a territorial dispute between two alphas. The last thing the school district wants is for people to think that redrawing the district lines was a bad thing. All that integration stuff, y’know?”

“So we’re just gonna let him get away with it,” Adam says, eyes on Cas.

“Dean is right,” Cas says quietly. Adam opens his mouth to protest, but Cas continues, “I’d rather not talk about it anymore. Can we just watch TV?”

“Okay,” Adam says, turning to look at the TV.

Dean catches him leaning closer to Cas, and he has to fight down the impulse to shove him away. He doesn’t feel that Adam is a threat, of course, because he’s an omega, but his presence still feels incongruous to Dean, the alpha inside him considering the kid a nuisance.

They’re quiet for a long time after that, and after _The Twilight Zone_ finishes airing, some show that Dean doesn’t recognize starts playing. Still, no one moves to change the channel, and Cas doesn’t seem inclined to let go of Dean anytime soon.

But at about four thirty, Dean knows that he has to get going—he’s gotta pick Sam up from his after-school honors program.

Cas immediately scoots into the space that Dean vacates when he gets up, and Dean lingers just a bit longer, running his fingers through Cas’s hair. Adam has that speculating look in his eyes again, but Dean ignores it and leaves the house, hurrying out to the Impala because he’s gotta be at the middle school by four fifty.

The drive over is quick, and it’s easy to get Sam because he doesn’t have to deal with all the traffic that’s around when school officially lets out.

“So? How’d it go with Amy?” Dean asks, grinning.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam says, hiding his face, but that could be good or bad.

Sniffing the air as Sam climbs into the car and pulls the door closed behind him, Dean decides that it’s definitely good. “Aha, I was right, wasn’t I?” he says, pulling away from the curb.

“Yeah,” Sam mumbles.

“Knew it,” Dean says—he’d reassured Sam that if Amy was sitting at his lunch table and talking to him all through lunch, then _yes_ , she was interested in him, and _yes_ , she would totally agree to go out with him if he got up the nerve to ask her. “So when’s your date?”

“What? No, I didn’t—I didn’t ask her out.”

Dean stops short at this. “Dude. Then what was the point of that talk you and I had?”

“Well I mean, I’m gonna ask her out _someday_ ,” Sam hedges, and Dean laughs.

“So she confirmed that she liked you, but you still didn’t have the guts to ask her out,” he says. “Wow, Sammy, never took you for a wimp.”

“Shut up, Dean. She invited me over to her house, okay?”

“ _Oh_. So _she_ asked _you_ out,” Dean says, chuckling. Sam punches his arm, but Dean just shakes his head. “Hey no, that’s great. So, when are you gonna need a ride over?”

“She said that I could go home with her tomorrow,” Sam says. After a pause, he says, “I might have already told her I could go, but I haven’t asked Mom and Dad yet. Do you think—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. They trust you,” Dean says.

“Okay,” Sam says, clearly relieved.

They get home a little under ten minutes later, and Dean is already halfway up the stairs to his room when he hears Mom calling his name. He turns on the steps to let Sam pass by before coming back downstairs to the living room, where he finds Mom turning the TV off.

“Hey,” he says. Mom looks sad and tired, and Dean doesn’t know why. “Is everything okay?”

“Dean, what have I said to you about getting into fights at school?”

“What? Mom, I didn’t—”

“Don’t try to lie to me,” she says. “Liddy already called and told me what you did at school, today. I know that you and Luther aren’t close friends anymore, but what did he do that was so offensive that you had to give him a black eye, hmm? You’re such a good student, and your teachers are all fond of you. Why do you have to go and do this every couple of months, Dean?”

“Mom—”

“I mean, your father and I—we’re doing the best we can, and I really don’t know how else we should—”

“Mom!” Dean barks, and she looks at him sharply, on the verge of launching into a scolding about his tone. So Dean hurries to say, “It really wasn’t my fault, this time. I swear. Luther was—fuck, he almost raped Cas.”

The anger and suspicion on Mom’s face dissipates almost instantaneously. “What?”

“I—look, our physics teacher held us back, so I was in a hurry to get outta there, and I don’t know, somehow Luther got Cas alone. Don’t know where the fuck Jones went, but—I realized that I dropped my keys, so I went back to the classroom, and when I did, that son of a bitch had Cas pinned to—” just remembering the scene he’d walked in on is enough to rouse his temper, and Dean takes a deep breath before going on, “God, I lost it. I would have beaten him to a bloody pulp, if Cas hadn’t stopped me.”

“Is Cas all right?” Mom asks, brow furrowed in concern.

“Yeah. I got there before Luther—fuck.”

The thought of Cas being taken by someone else, being _hurt_ like that, makes Dean’s teeth clench hard enough that his jaw hurts, and now that Dean’s thinking about it without Cas around—now that he doesn’t have to be stable for Cas’s sake—he feels fear rising in his chest, and he balls his hands into fists.

And then Mom is moving closer, slipping her arms around his shoulders and holding him. “It’s all right, Dean,” she says. “You got there in time, and everything’s fine.”

Dean sighs and lets his chin fall to rest on Mom’s shoulder, leaning into her a little. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have assumed,” she says, patting his back.

“Oh god, _Mom_ ,” Dean says, face scrunching up in disgust at the nickname.

Mom just pulls back, smiling slightly. “Go on upstairs. I’m sure you have homework to be doing. In the meantime, I’m going to make a phone call.”

“You’re not calling the school, are you?” Dean asks, frowning.

“Oh, no. That’s up to Cas and his parents,” Mom says, and Dean almost brings up the fact that Cas’s parents are both gone, but it’s not really relevant, right now. Mom continues, “No, I need to make a call and set things straight with Liddy about her son.”

* * *

Cas is quiet all through the next day, not saying much whether or not people are talking to him. Dean stays close, hovering over him as often as possible. He’s just immensely relieved that Cas never has to spend any class periods alone; Dean is only in his second and fifth period, but Anna, Adam, and Uriel are spread out between his remaining classes.

Luther gives them a wide berth all day, and his black eye is satisfying to look at. Equally pleasing is a small cut to the corner of his lips and a bruise on his cheek—it seems Mrs. Walsh-Panowski punished him at least a little bit. In fifth period, he sits in the very back of the classroom, nice and far away from Cas, and Dean takes the seat that Luther had been using, working together with Cas when Mr. Jones passes out a partner assignment.

At lunchtime, Cas revealed that he and Michael decided against telling anyone. Dean doesn’t have a chance to ask why until he and Cas are sitting side by side in physics, desks pushed together.

Cas explains that Raphael had been similarly attacked when he was in high school, and they’d gone straight to the principal, only to be questioned relentlessly about whether or not Raphael had been _welcoming_ the alpha’s advances—had he been near heat or off his medication? Had he flirted with the alpha in the past? Did he have a reputation for inviting alphas’ advances?

It’s disgusting—really, they’re in the twenty-first century, and Dean had expected better. So he accepts Cas’s decision to keep this to their circle of friends and turns his attention to the assignment at hand.

After fifth period, Dean offers to sit in on Cas’s sixth period and then give him a ride home, but he insists that he’ll be fine—Adam is in his sixth period class, and Anna will be there to drive them home. So after getting a promise that Cas will call if he needs anything, Dean heads off to Singer Auto.

A little over two hours into his shift, Dean is lying underneath an old Pontiac Tempest when he hears Bobby calling his name.

“A little busy here!” Dean responds.

Bobby kicks his foot and says, “Well, get un-busy. You’ve got a visitor.”

Dean slides out from under the car, ready to gripe about being halfway through a job, but his irritation fades away instantly at the sight of Cas standing a few feet away, looking utterly out-of-place. Grinning, Dean gets to his feet and crosses over to him.

“Hey, Cas,” he says. “What’re you doing here? Are you looking for Michael?” Even as he finishes asking, he wants to punch himself for being stupid—Bobby _clearly_ said that Dean had a visitor, not Michael.

“No, I—here,” Cas says, holding out a Tupperware container.

Dean reaches over to snag a semi-clean towel from his cart, trying to wipe the grease from his hands before accepting it. “Cookies?” he says, raising his eyebrows at Cas.

“Yes,” Cas says, cheeks reddening slightly. “I… was originally going to bake a pie for you, because Jo said that it was your dessert of choice, but I’ve never baked pie before, and I didn’t want it to be bad. And I didn’t have the time to buy fruit, bake the pie, and still catch you here, so—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean says, and god, he’s smiling so hard that he doesn’t think he can stop. “You didn’t have to bake me anything.”

“Well, I just—I know I don’t _need_ to thank you, but—thank you.”

The slightly mortified look on Cas’s face is so endearing that Dean _has_ to step forward and pull him into a hug, tilting his head back slightly so that Cas can duck under his chin.

“You’re okay,” Dean says. “That’s what’s important.”

Cas pulls back but stays close, smiling up at Dean, and Dean absently wonders if one day they’ll be eye-to-eye—Cas is barely sixteen, so he’s definitely not done growing, yet.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Michael says, appearing in Dean’s peripheral vision.

Dean steps back just a bit, but Cas doesn’t move, staying right where he is. “Uh, Cas brought some cookies,” Dean says.

“Dean must be pretty special, hmm?” Michael says, eyes on his little brother. “You’ve never baked _me_ a whole batch of cookies before, Cas.”

“Well, I—but you don’t even _like_ cookies,” Cas says, face going red again.

“I’d like them if they were baked by you,” Michael says, pouting a little.

“All right, all right, enough yapping!” Bobby calls from the doorway to the office. “Get back to work!”

“Going, going,” Michael says, passing by Dean and Cas to the next car over.

“I should go,” Cas says.

“Yeah, probably. Thanks for these,” Dean says, shaking the container of cookies just a little.

Cas bites his lower lip, looking up at Dean through his lashes, and Dean’s about to ask if there’s anything else he wants to say when he surges up onto his toes and presses a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek.

By the time Dean’s registered what just happened, Cas has already bounded out of the garage and into the office, out of sight. Dean brings one hand up to touch the spot that Cas just kissed, almost unable to believe it.

He doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some time skips in this chapter. I hope they're not too confusing, but if so, I've tried to clear stuff up in the end notes.

Dean lies back and stares up at the branches of the tree above him, nearly bare of leaves. It’s the week before Thanksgiving, and Dean can’t wait for next week, because they’re gonna have a couple days of break, one of which is gonna be devoted to a _Star Wars_ marathon, because apparently Cas’s brothers liked _Star Trek_ but never thought to introduce Cas to _Star Wars_. Dean’s aware of the rivalry between the two franchises, but to hell with that. They’re both awesome, and he loves both of them.

But that’ll be next week. For now, he’s content to lie in the grass and let Cas’s scent wash over him, blended a little with the smell of grass and the slight chill of approaching winter. He twists his hand a little to twine their fingers together, and Cas shifts closer, until their shoulders are touching.

“Does Sam actually like staying after school for that honors program of his?” Cas asks.

Dean dropped Sammy off at home a little while ago before driving over to meet Cas—it’s become sort of a routine in the past month or so, coming out to the park across the street from Cas’s house on the days that Cas doesn’t go to swim practice.

“Y’know, I think he actually does,” Dean says. “Giant nerd.”

“He texted me about an hour ago, asking when my first kiss was,” Cas says.

“ _What?_ ”

“I believe he’s planning to kiss Amy soon,” Cas says. “They’re only in eighth grade—it’s entirely plausible that they’ve never kissed before.”

“Sammy’s been kissed, but I highly doubt it was anything fancy,” Dean answers. Then he frowns. “Wait, even _I_ don’t know when your first kiss was. Tell me.”

“Well, Michael used to kiss me goodnight,” Cas says, and Dean can practically hear him smiling.

“C’mon, Cas, I’m serious.”

“How can you really not know?” Cas asks, and when Dean turns his head to the side, he sees that Cas is frowning at him.

“What, do you mean— _I_ was your first kiss?” Dean says, incredulous. Cas hadn’t seemed all that inexperienced, just out of practice, maybe. First kisses were usually rushed, messy things, but Cas had been deliberate and fluid, lips moving against Dean’s in a slow tease that almost drove him nuts.

“Yes,” Cas says, turning his head so that he’s facing up again.

Dean follows his example, looking back up at the tree. “You were… surprisingly good, then.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Did you expect me to be a horrible kisser?”

“ _Everyone’s_ a horrible kisser the first time around,” Dean says defensively.

“Perhaps I’m just a natural.”

Dean laughs a little, and then he closes his eyes, because with his eyes closed, it’s easier to smell Cas; he’s less distracted by the little dust particles floating in the air, by the changing colors of the sky. With his eyes closed, his entire world narrows down to Cas, and it’s—perfect. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“What do I smell like, to you?” he asks after a moment.

“What, you can’t smell yourself?” Cas responds.

“You know what I mean. Different people perceive scents in different ways,” Dean says, turning his head and opening his eyes to look at Cas.

Cas nods to concede Dean’s point and considers the question for a moment, eyes sliding shut as he takes a deep breath. Finally, he says, “The ocean. You smell like… like vast power and strength and fury, immovable yet unstoppable…” he pauses here, smiling, and adds, “…with a dash of salt.”

Dean stares at him, surprised by his answer. “Well okay, then. I was just gonna say that you smelled like my mom’s apple pie,” he says, and Cas laughs. “Yeah, after your whole strength and fury deal, it’s kind of a lame description, isn’t it?”

“No, Dean, I like it,” Cas says, propping himself up on one elbow and leaning over Dean a little.

“Yeah?” Dean says, eyes snapping up to meet Cas’s, and Cas nods, a pretty blush spreading across his cheeks. “Well good, because I definitely did not get the poetry gene from my parents,” he says.

Smiling, Cas leans down and kisses him, slow and soft.

* * *

Castiel rings the doorbell to Dean’s house before turning and waving at Michael, urging him to drive away. As is usual, Castiel’s wild gesticulating does nothing, and Michael does not leave until Dean’s already opened the door.

“C’mon in,” Dean says, stepping back.

Castiel enters the house and makes his way to the kitchen to greet to Dean’s mother, because it’s only polite. “Hello, Mrs. Winchester,” he says.

“Mary,” she corrects him with a smile.

“Oh, come on,” Dean says, grabbing his hand and yanking him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

Castiel hears Dean’s mother laughing downstairs, but he chooses not to comment. They pass by Sam’s room, and Castiel notices that the door is open and the room vacant. “Where is Sam?” he asks as they enter Dean’s bedroom.

“He’s at a friend’s house. The uh, the girl whose dad is a pastor. Laura or Lori or… something. I guess she’s hosting their study group this week,” Dean answers, pushing the door closed. “What the hell they have to study for in eighth grade, I have no idea.”

“I do not recall having much to study either, in eighth grade,” Castiel says.

Dean abruptly ends the discussion there, pulling Castiel in by the hips and kissing him, and Castiel hums into it, relishing the contact with his alpha. He’s becoming less and less wary of that idea, more and more fond of the thought of bonding with Dean.

Castiel pulls away before Dean can get worked up and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing toward the TV across the room from him. Dean inserts the disc into the DVD player and grabs the remote control before getting onto the bed as well, leaning up against the wall and spreading his legs invitingly. Castiel has often wondered what it would be like to straddle Dean’s lap instead, to make Dean hard for him. It’s only happened three times, Dean’s arousal getting the better of him while they were kissing, and Castiel was startled by the allure of his scent each time.

“Cas?” Dean says, frowning.

Castiel blinks, trying to clear his mind, and crawls over to sit in front of Dean. “I’m fine,” he says.

“You sure? We don’t _have_ to watch this, if you really don’t want to,” Dean says.

“Oh, no. I was just lost in thought,” Castiel says.

He trusts Dean’s judgment, so he intends to see this marathon through to the end. After all, he _did_ love _Firefly_. It’s tragic that the show stopped at only one season. The movie was not nearly enough for closure, and Castiel wishes that there had been at least one more season—or two or three or four.

After the second—but somehow also the fifth?—movie, Castiel decides that while _Star Wars_ is enjoyable enough, he is far fonder of _Star Trek_.

As Dean is switching DVDs for the next movie, Castiel says, “I don’t understand. Does Han Solo actually love Princess Leia or not?”

Dean turns to give him a funny look and says, “Yeah. ‘Course he does.”

“But then—why doesn’t he say that he loves her, too?”

“Because he doesn’t have to,” Dean says, putting the new DVD into the player and tossing aside the case.

“But then how is the princess supposed to know?” Castiel asks as Dean returns to his seat, sliding in behind Castiel.

“It’s unspoken. She can tell,” he says.

“But then it’d only be a guess,” Castiel argues. “Shouldn’t he give her confirmation?”

“Oh c’mon, Cas—just let it go, all right?”

“I just don’t think it’s fair that she bared her emotions to him while he left his unspoken,” Castiel says, frowning as the introduction comes onto the screen.

Dean rests his chin on Castiel’s shoulder and turns his head a little, nosing at Castiel’s cheekbone.

Castiel chews on his lip for maybe a minute before saying, quietly, “I love you, Dean.”

“Mm,” Dean hums, his head tilting downward to bring his nose closer to Castiel’s jaw. And then he jolts a little and says, “Wait—you—what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, hey, I just—I didn’t expect that,” Dean says, leaning a little to the side so that he can get a better look at Castiel’s face. But Castiel turns his face the other way, avoiding his gaze, and Dean says, “Hey. I uh, I love you, too, Cas.”

Castiel thinks he smells a little bit of sweetness in the air, which is rare, coming from Dean—from alphas in general, actually. Castiel has learned in the time that he’s spent with Dean that it means he’s feeling embarrassed, or even _shy_ , and when he turns his head toward Dean again, he expects Dean to be looking away—at the bed or the TV or anything else.

So when he finds those gold-green eyes staring right back at him, full to the brim with unabashed affection, his breath hitches in his chest.

“Dean,” he whispers, unable to say anything else.

“I know,” Dean answers, winking cockily, and Castiel could punch him for ruining the moment with a joke, but Dean leans in and kisses him before he can.

* * *

Castiel can’t help but feel awkward, wedged in the back seat between Sam and Dean. The car is silent but for the rumbling of the truck’s engine beneath them, and Castiel tries to remember why he thought that it was a good idea to accept Dean’s invitation to join his family on a trip to the shooting range.

They apparently go every two or three weeks. Castiel has shot a gun at an arcade before, and he has excellent aim, but that was a toy gun, and he suspects that the real thing will be very different.

Dean has reassured him that his family won’t care whether or not Castiel can shoot a gun accurately—they’ll just be pleased that he was willing to come in the first place. Castiel isn’t quite sure when they entered the phase of attempting to please each other’s families, but Dean has been doing stellar work at the auto shop, and he’s actually come over and cooked dinner for Michael and Castiel before. Castiel overheard his brothers talking about it later, and Lucifer had told Michael to let him know ahead of time the next time, because he wanted to try Dean’s cooking.

Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand, pulling him out of his thoughts, and smiles reassuringly at him before tugging lightly. Castiel resists until Dean gives up on his hand and hooks an arm around his shoulders instead, pulling him closer. Glancing over at Sam, Castiel finds that he’s fallen asleep, forehead pressed against the window.

“Cas, will your brothers be back in Lawrence for winter break?” Mary asks from up front.

She heard from Dean last month that Castiel’s parents weren’t around anymore, and the first thing she’d said the next time she saw Castiel was that he could come around for dinner whenever he wanted, as long as he let her know ahead of time. Castiel has only taken up that offer once, at Dean’s insistence, and he now knows where Dean’s prowess in the kitchen comes from.

“Gabriel will be home,” Castiel answers. “We’ll be lucky if we get a phone call from Raphael.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Mary says. “I don’t think I’d be able to take it if one of my boys disappeared to some third world country and never called to check in.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about from me. It’s Sam you’ve gotta look out for,” Dean comments.

“I think Michael worries, but there’s nothing he can do about it,” Castiel says to Mary. “The crime rate there is quite high. We’ve been keeping an eye on news reports about the refugee camps, and we’ve heard that thieves regularly steal medical supplies to be sold on the black market. It’s… worrying.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Mary says.

“It doesn’t help that Raphael’s an unmated omega,” Castiel adds, frowning.

“What?” John says, and when Castiel meets his eye in the rearview mirror, he sees that John’s brow is furrowed in consternation. “How could Michael let him go, then?”

“He couldn’t really stop him,” Castiel says. “Raphael is an adult; he signed on without telling Michael.”

“Irresponsible,” John mutters under his breath.

“This is kind of a heavy topic,” Dean says, his hand rubbing small circles where it’s resting on Castiel’s shoulder. “Maybe we should talk about something Christmas-related.”

“Oh!” Mary says. “That reminds me. Did you and your brothers want to come over on Monday?”

“What?” Castiel says, surprised. “Oh, we couldn’t possibly impose—”

“Well, what’ll you be eating for Christmas dinner if you stay at home?” Mary asks.

“Uh… Michael’s always put something together,” Castiel says. “I might help him this year.”

“Just come over,” Dean urges, leaning in to nuzzle behind Castiel’s ear.

“Dean, I can _see_ you,” John says, and Castiel starts, jerking away to sit up straight.

“ _John_ ,” Mary says, admonishing, but she sounds amused, too. Twisting in her seat to look at Castiel, she says, “Really, you should join us. Dean will spend all dinner thinking about you either way, so you might as well be there, so that he’ll be there, too.”

“I’ll speak to Michael when he gets home tonight, then,” Castiel says.

“Okay. Dean, you’d better make sure he does.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you weren’t planning to go over to his house as soon as we got home,” Mary says.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, taking Castiel’s hand again.

About twenty minutes later, Castiel is standing in a booth, a few guns lying on the counter in front of him. The target doesn’t seem that far away, but he’s unsure of himself. He picks up one of the guns, a smaller one, and it’s heavier than he expected.

“You know how to work a gun, right?” Dean says from a few steps behind him.

“Theoretically,” Castiel says, looking at the gun in his hands and cocking it. Then he lifts the gun, cradling it in both hands like he’s seen in the movies, and reminds himself that there’s going to be recoil. Bracing himself, he takes aim and squeezes the trigger.

“Hey, not bad,” Dean says.

Castiel squints at the target and sees that he struck the side of the silhouette. He’d been aiming for the center of the chest, but at least his bullet hit the target. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much recoil at all—not as much as he’d thought there would be, and he wonders if it has to do with the gun that he chose.

“Empty the clip,” Dean says.

“What?”

“Fire the rest of the shots,” Dean clarifies.

“Oh,” Castiel says, lifting the gun again. He pulls the trigger five more times, and in quick succession, he sees how the recoil affects his aim between shots.

Dean presses a button on Castiel’s left, and the target slides forward on a wire until it’s right in front of them. “Are you just good at _everything_ on your first try?” Dean huffs.

“This is hardly _good_ ,” Castiel says, frowning. Not one bullet hit the spot on the figure’s chest that Castiel had been aiming for—two shots missed the silhouette entirely, landing in the surrounding white space.

“Dude. For your first time at a shooting range, this is awesome. _You’re_ awesome.”

Despite his disagreement with Dean’s judgment, Castiel can’t help but smile at having his alpha’s approval. He sets the gun down and turns to kiss Dean, because that’s infinitely more pleasant than shooting guns. Dean’s hands rest on his lower back, pulling him close, and Castiel relinquishes control over the kiss, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and letting Dean lick into his mouth until he’s lightheaded.

Dean pulls back then, breathing hard, and presses his forehead against Castiel’s. “Mate with me.”

Castiel’s eyes pop open, but he sees that Dean’s eyes are still closed, and the first word that makes it out of Castiel’s mouth is a breathless, tremulous, “ _Now?_ ”

“Not this second, obviously,” Dean says, shaking his head slightly. And then he says, “No, just—I want you to be mine. Forever.”

Castiel shivers at the thought, a little terrified but more than a little exhilarated.

“Cas?” Dean says, hesitation creeping into his voice.

“Yes,” Castiel says, tilting his head upward to kiss Dean’s nose, then cheek. “A thousand times, yes.”

The relief that floods from Dean is infectious, and Castiel is giddy with it, meeting Dean’s lips when he lifts his head. Dean takes a few steps forward, pushing Castiel backwards until his back meets the side of the booth, and Castiel hardly even cares that they’re practically out in the open, _can’t_ care when Dean is kissing him like their lives depend on it.

The heady, musky aroma of Dean’s arousal fills Castiel’s nose, and suddenly, he feels hot, hotter than usual. Dean pulls away from his mouth and kisses his way down Castiel’s neck, latching on near the base and teething at his skin.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, barely audible even to himself.

He starts to feel—leaky, _wet_ , like he’s melting inside, and he grasps Dean’s shoulders, trying to ground himself. Their kisses have never affected him like this, and Castiel realizes a beat later that this, what he’s feeling now, is arousal.

If this is what Dean feels whenever he gets worked up, Castiel has no idea how he manages to back off, because Castiel wants to pull Dean in, wants him closer, as close as he can possibly get. Dean seems to want the exact same thing, because he presses in, hands sliding under Castiel’s thighs to pull them up around his waist, and _oh_ , their crotches press together, and Castiel feels the bulge of Dean’s erection against his own.

“ _Dean_ ,” he gets out, a little louder this time, and grabs at the back of Dean’s neck, pulling at the short hairs there until Dean gets the point and lifts his head to kiss Castiel again.

Someone coughs pointedly, but Castiel hardly hears it, lost in sensation. Then there are footsteps coming in their direction, followed by another cough, louder this time.

Dean pulls back, chest heaving, hands still tight underneath Castiel’s thighs. “Fuck,” he hisses, eyes flicking open. Castiel presses their lips together one more time, quickly, before daring to turn his eyes away and look at the newcomer.

“Uh, you guys are kinda stinking up the place,” Sam says. “Mom and Dad said that if you’re not gonna shoot, you should probably go wait by the truck.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do that,” Dean says. “Just—give us a minute.”

Sam nods, wrinkling his nose as he walks away to a different booth.

For whatever reason, Castiel finds himself laughing, and when Dean releases his thighs, he clings to Dean’s shoulders to stay upright. They take a minute to calm down, Dean stepping back and turning away for part of it. Castiel dislikes the distance, but he’s grateful for it too, the heat inside him dying down and taking his desperation away with it.

Then they leave the shooting range, walking across the small parking lot to the pickup. Dean hops up into the bed of the truck and holds out a hand to help Castiel in, and then they sit down, side by side.

“Did you mean it?” Castiel asks, looking over at Dean.

“A hundred percent,” Dean says.

“Me, too,” Castiel says.

He lets his gaze drop down to his hands, clasped together in his lap. Everyone has learned about mating—it’s a topic that’s been covered in the curriculum from biological, historical, and sociopolitical perspectives, and Castiel is very familiar with its effects, academically. But practically, he doesn’t know much about the act of mating, or the consequences. He doesn’t have a pair of loving parents to tell him whether or not he should mate, and not one of his brothers has taken a mate.

He remembers reading in the history books about the way omegas were once viewed as property, how mating was the means of keeping them in line—once mated, omegas were absolutely submissive to their alphas, physically unable to disobey their commands. Biologically, mating bonds had to be formed from desire in both parties, but that desire manifested chemically and could therefore be manipulated through drugs, and unwilling omegas in the past had bonds forced on them.

Things were bad enough that for a few decades in the early 1900s, mating was actually viewed as unlawful, even between loving, married couples. Castiel knows that Dean wouldn’t ever hurt him, not on purpose, but he can’t help the sudden fear that grips him at the thought of how vulnerable he would be.

Then Dean’s hand moves into Castiel’s field of vision, resting over his clasped hands. “You okay, Cas?”

“Yes, I’m—fine.”

“Hey,” Dean says, shifting to squat in front of Castiel. “I’m not stupid. I can smell how scared you are. What’s wrong? We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to. We can wait, take it slow.”

“No, I—I really want to,” Castiel says. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” Dean says, taking Castiel’s hands in his, “but you’ve gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean’s touch is gentle, and Castiel loves him, trusts him. Yet… “I don’t know how strongly the mating will affect us, but I don’t want anything to change, between us,” Castiel says. “So I… I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and says, “Never force me to do something against my will.”

Dean almost looks hurt. “Cas, you’ve gotta know I couldn’t possibly—”

“As my alpha, you would be completely capable,” Castiel contradicts. “I just—I know that you wouldn’t, but I…”

“Need confirmation,” Dean finishes with a nod. “Yeah, I get it, Leia.”

Castiel leans forward to punch him in the chest, and he falls back on his ass, laughing. “I’m being serious, assbutt,” Castiel says, trying his best not to smile. He bites down on his lower lip, but the look Dean gives him makes it clear that he’s entirely unconvincing.

“Okay,” Dean says. “Seriously. I won’t hurt you.”

“That wasn’t what I wanted you to say,” Castiel points out.

Dean nods, sobering and sitting up straight. “I won’t ever abuse my hold on you to make you do something you don’t want to,” he says solemnly, looking Castiel in the eye as he speaks. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, soft. And then, with more daring than he thought he had, he crawls forward and straddles Dean’s lap, relishing the surprised look on Dean’s face. “I’ll speak to my brothers before we—before we make the bond, and I think you should speak with your parents first, too.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says absently, clearly distracted by Castiel’s proximity.

It makes Castiel feel powerful, being the sole object of Dean’s attention. He leans in and nuzzles Dean’s cheek, watches Dean’s eyes slide shut. So Castiel takes the opportunity to kiss Dean’s left eyelid, and then his right, hearing Dean’s breath shudder out of him with each soft press of lips.

Castiel finishes with a brief kiss to Dean’s lips, and as he pulls back, Dean says, “I love you, Cas.”

Unable to hold back a slight smirk, Castiel responds with, “I know.”

Dean’s eyes fly open, surprise and delight in them as easy to read as words on a page, and then he shakes his head, smiling a little. “Oh, I am a horrible influence on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so. Chapter 5 ended in the third week of school, kinda late September. The first two scenes in this chapter take place right around Thanksgiving, which is about two months later. The trip to the shooting range is yet another month after that, a couple days before Christmas.
> 
> Also, just as a heads up, I'm terrible at writing Christmas stuff, so no, there will not be an actual scene for the Christmas dinner. There will, however, be kind of a next-morning scene for Cas's family after dinner with the Winchesters. (I have a Christmas-y thing planned for a different fic in this series, but I am not using my limited tolerance for writing festivities here.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Posting because it's my birthday today, haha. So happy birthday to me, and you guys get this chapter a day or two early! Win win:)

Castiel is using a spatula to scramble eggs when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs. “Good morning!” he says brightly.

“Ugh, don’t even _look_ at me,” Gabriel groans, crossing the living room and sinking into a chair at the dining table.

“You can’t be feeling that bad,” Michael says, peering at him over the top of his newspaper.

Gabriel’s head hits the table with a loud _thunk_ , and Castiel chuckles, turning his attention back to the stove. “I don’t think Mary made the eggnog,” Gabriel says. “She is way too nice to be putting _that_ much alcohol into anything, god.”

“It’s your fault for drinking so much of it,” Michael says. “Lucifer and I had some, and we’re both fine.”

“Where is Luci, anyway? Off to work, already?” Gabriel mumbles.

“Left three hours ago,” Michael replies.

“Were you _awake?_ ” Gabriel says incredulously, head still down.

“No, but I looked at his schedule.”

Castiel turns off the heat, lifts the pan, and divides the scrambled eggs into three plates already heaped with sausages and pancakes. Not one item is burnt, and he’s extremely proud of himself. He carries two of the plates over to the table and sets them down in front of his brothers before returning to grab utensils, a bottle of syrup, and his own breakfast.

“Happy birthday,” he says to Michael as he sits down.

“Oh, right—happy birthday,” Gabriel says to the table.

“Thanks,” Michael huffs before rolling the newspaper up and smacking the back of Gabriel’s head with it.

“Ow!” Gabriel yelps, lifting his head to glower at Michael.

“Eat your breakfast,” Michael says, lifting his fork to dig in. Gabriel goes to pick his own up, but the newspaper comes down on his hand before he can reach it. “Thank Cas, first. It’s not every day that he goes to the trouble of making a proper breakfast.”

“Thanks, baby bro,” Gabriel says with an overly sweet smile. Turning wary eyes back on Michael, he asks, “ _Now_ , can I eat?”

Michael just shrugs and sticks his fork into a sausage.

Castiel smiles as he watches his brothers eat and just wishes Lucifer and Raphael could be here. They hadn’t gotten a Christmas phone call from Raphael after all, and Castiel hopes he’s doing all right. Michael tried calling Raphael’s station when they got home last night, but the operator said that he was out on duty, whatever that entailed.

“Where are we going for dinner tonight?” Gabriel asks a few minutes later. “Are we up for some splurging? Because one of my classmates—”

“Talk to Lucifer about it,” Michael says. “He’s choosing the place.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “It’s your birthday, too. You deserve a little something for yourself now and then.”

“Having you guys here is all I need,” Michael says.

“Aw, aren’t you a big sap,” Gabriel says, looking over at Castiel. “C’mon, Cas, back me up here. When’s the last time Mike did anything for himself?”

“Gabriel, let it go.”

“I honestly cannot remember,” Castiel answers.

“Everything you think I’m doing for you _is_ for myself,” Michael says. “Now, let’s talk about something more interesting. Castiel, I think we’ve long passed the point where I can just look the other way, so I have to ask: what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Dean?”

Startled by the abrupt topic change, Castiel hesitates, unsure how to respond. No matter how he phrases it in his mind, he feels that Michael will be opposed.

“Dude, you don’t have to be so serious. What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?” Gabriel says, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“Dean has expressed his desire to mate with me,” Castiel says, because directness and candor has usually worked for him in the past. Both of his brothers are silent, so he continues, “I accepted, but we agreed to speak with our families before we did anything irreversible.”

Michael sets down his fork and says to his eggs and pancakes, “You don’t mean to mate in the near future, do you?”

“I would like to,” Castiel replies.

“No,” Michael says.

“Hey, I think this is a good thing,” Gabriel says, and when Michael glares at him, he says defensively, “Cas is a lot like you, y’know. He never wants anything for himself. So this is good! It’s proof that he’s still human, him realizing that he wants something.”

Shaking his head, Michael turns toward Castiel and says, “It’s far too early to even _think_ about mating. I’d even say it was too early for marriage, and most couples don’t mate until they’re married, Castiel. How long have you even known Dean?”

“Almost four months,” Castiel answers. Has it really only been that long?

“Not even four months, and you think you want to be with this boy forever. Castiel, that’s—those are just hormones talking. First crushes are always—”

“I love him,” Castiel interrupts.

“You _think_ you love him. You don’t know that,” Michael says.

“I do.”

Michael sighs. “Gabriel, what do you really think? And _please_ , for once, don’t be facetious. This is the rest of Castiel’s life we’re debating, here.”

“Well, I—I still think it’s good for Cas to do what he wants, but uh,” he pauses and looks at Castiel as he says, “I guess it is kinda early. I mean, you and Dean have the rest of your lives to get mated, right? You don’t _have_ to do it now. I can’t say much about him as a person because I saw him for all of like, five hours, yesterday. But people are liable to change, y’know? So maybe it’d be best for you to keep your options open, just in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Castiel says firmly.

“But you don’t _know_ that,” Michael says, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.

“I have resided in this mind for sixteen years, and I know very well whether or not it will change.”

“Castiel, you think that now, but—”

“I think you fail to grasp the meaning of the phrase, _will not change_.”

“Look, I’m not trying to ruin your happiness with Dean, all right?” Michael says. “He’s a good kid; I know that. But if you get mated to him, it’ll be permanent. You won’t have a choice anymore—do you understand that?”

“Of course I do. Why would I enter into a relationship I did not understand?” Castiel responds. “Dean has promised me that he would never use his power as an alpha over me. He’s never hurt me before, and he was there for me when I needed him to be. I want forever, with him.”

Michael sighs. “I just want you to be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Dean wouldn’t hurt me. He can’t.”

“The fact that you think he can’t is just proof that he can,” Michael says.

That makes no sense, and Castiel doesn’t attempt to puzzle it out. When he doesn’t respond, Michael gets to his feet and walks away from the table.

“Aw, Mike, don’t just…” Gabriel starts, but Michael has already gone into his room and closed the door.

Castiel looks down at his own plate and bites his lip, eyes prickling. He cannot remember the last time Michael was angry enough to simply leave the room like that. And it’s his birthday, too—the last thing he wanted was to anger Michael on his birthday.

“Cas, it’s not your fault,” Gabriel says, but it _is_.

If he could have just kept it to himself for another day, Michael would be happy right now, instead of locked up in his room, angry. Castiel was able to keep his mouth shut through Christmas dinner, and it wouldn’t have been a problem at all for him to keep the news a secret for just a little while longer.

“Cas. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’m not,” Castiel says, looking down at his breakfast. He doesn’t have an appetite anymore.

“You obviously are,” Gabriel says. “Y’know, Michael’s always been a little old-fashioned about things. He’ll come around. You just have to prove him wrong.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel huffs a laugh. “Don’t thank _me_. I haven’t done anything to help you.”

Castiel stands. “Could you ask Michael not to tell Lucifer yet? I’d like to tell him on my own time, if it’s all right with him.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gabriel says. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to cover these dishes and then go to my room,” Castiel says.

“You’re not gonna finish that?”

“No.”

“Uh, leave the covering to me,” Gabriel says. “I might finish off some of your food, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh. Help yourself, then,” Castiel says.

Gabriel flashes a smile at him, and then Castiel heads for the stairs.

A minute later, in the safety of his bedroom, Castiel gets out his phone and sends Dean a text— _Michael doesn’t want us to mate. Gabriel’s ok with it._

While he’s waiting for a response, he gets out the winter break assignment packet that Mr. Turner handed out last Friday. He didn’t have a chance to work on it on Saturday, having spent most of the day with Dean’s family at the shooting range, but he worked on it for a good two hours on Sunday, and he’s almost halfway done—three of seven pages completed.

Six minutes pass before Castiel’s phone beeps.

_Parents fighting, havent said anything yet_

That’s unfortunate, Castiel thinks. _What are they fighting about?_ he sends back.

The response comes quicker this time— _No idea. Its quiet now, tho. Wish me luck._

So Castiel dutifully types, _Good luck_ , and hits send.

* * *

Dean smiles fondly at the last text—of course Cas would take it literally and _actually_ send a good luck text, the nerd.

Then he pockets his phone and leaves his room, walking past Sam’s room and to the stairs. Down on the first floor, he peers into the living room and finds Dad sitting on the couch with a beer, staring glumly at the TV. He goes into the kitchen and sees Mom, shuffling leftover containers around in the fridge.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, he says, “Mom, Dad, can you both come over here?”

“Now’s not really a good time, Dean,” Mom says.

“Please. It’s important.”

Mom sighs and closes the door to the fridge before coming to the kitchen table and sitting down. Dad comes in a moment later, taking the seat across from Mom. They avoid each other’s eyes, and Dean almost reconsiders, but no—they need to know.

“I uh, I asked Cas to mate me,” he says. “He said yes.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Dad says, “Don’t you think you’re a bit young to be making these kinds of decisions on your own?”

“Why do you think I’m taking it to you guys, huh?”

“What kind of tone is that?” Dad says, eyes hardening.

“When did you ask him, Dean?” Mom asks. “Was it at the shooting range?”

“How is that even relevant, Mary? You can’t be considering letting them go through with this.”

“ _Letting_ us?” Dean says. “Dude, we don’t need your _permission_ to mate. I’m only telling you ahead of time because Cas suggested it.”

“I could prevent it from happening,” Dad says. “I could make it so that you won’t be able to see him again.”

“How, by killing me?” Dean says. “Because that’s the only thing you could do to keep me away from Cas.”

“You wanna test me?”

“Boys, calm down,” Mom says. “Look—John, we could ground Dean, but he would still see Cas at school. We could transfer him to another school, but I’m certain they’d find ways to meet. And Dean, don’t ever suggest that your father would be able to kill you. It’s not funny, and I don’t want to hear it. Can we just talk to each other like civilized people?”

“I was _trying_ ,” Dean starts, but a sharp look from Mom silences him.

“I just want to know why you asked him,” Mom says. “Let’s start with that.”

“Why else? I wanna be with him.”

“You can be with him without mating,” Mom says. “You could get engaged now, if you like. And maybe a year or two from now, you could get married, and then you could talk about mating. But right now—”

“I don’t want to wait,” Dean says. “And besides, who says that getting married before mating is the only right way to do things? You and Dad were married before you mated, and you even had me, but Adam still happened, didn’t he?”

Mom and Dad both stiffen at the mention of Adam, and yeah—not a smart move, bringing that up. Dean isn’t really privy to any of the details, but he knows that his parents have put that in the past, and they’re on good terms with Kate and Adam, but it’s probably still a sore spot best left alone.

“You’re looking at it the wrong way,” Mom reasons. “What you should realize is that even with the proper precautions—even after spending so much time together, choosing to mate was still a big decision for us, and it almost went south.”

Picking up from there, Dad says, “You and Cas are still very young— _too_ young—to be doing something that will affect you for the rest of your lives.”

“See, you say that, but then I have to make decisions about colleges and careers in a couple months, depending on where I’m accepted, so—”

“Those are important decisions too, but they can be changed. If you choose a career path that you don’t like, it’s never too late to turn back and try something else. But if you mate with Cas, it’s permanent. You won’t be able to back out,” Dad says.

“I won’t need to back out,” Dean replies. And then, because he needs them to see just how serious he is about this, he says, “I love him.” Surprisingly, it feels good to say it—to tell people how much he cares about Cas. “I love him,” he repeats, a little louder this time, “and I won’t let you stop me from showing him that.”

“But you could show it in different ways,” Dad says. “You don’t have to make such a permanent—”

“John, I think that’s the point,” Mom interrupts. Looking at Dean, she says, “Thank you for being honest with us. I still maintain that it’s too early for you to be making this decision, but if it’s really what you and Cas want, your father and I will support you.”

Dad frowns impressively but doesn’t argue, which is kinda miraculous already.

“Thanks, guys,” Dean says, getting to his feet. He waits a moment, just to see if his parents have anything else to say, but Mom is looking at Dad, who’s trying to drill a hole through the table by the power of his stare, so he exits the kitchen and goes back to his room.

Not five seconds after collapsing onto his bed, Sam appears in his doorway. “I heard what you told Mom and Dad,” he says, coming into the room and sitting down at Dean’s desk.

“And what do you think?”

“I think it’s great.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, lifting his head to look at his little brother.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a decisive nod. “The way you and Cas look at each other is just like the way Mom and Dad look at each other when they think we’re not looking.”

“Oh, god, you’re such a girl.”

Sam laughs. “You’re welcome.”

“Okay, quit sounding so smug,” Dean says. “How’re things going with Amy?”

Sam immediately goes red as a tomato. “None of your business. Just worry about you and Cas, ‘kay?” he says before retreating from the room.

“I hope you’re treating her like a lady!” Dean calls after him.

“Shut up, you big jerk!” Sam shouts back.

* * *

“Your parents are surprisingly open-minded about this,” Cas says the next day.

“Mostly my mom,” Dean answers. He leans forward to speed up, and Cas’s hand tightens around his—Cas hasn’t been ice skating before.

“I don’t know if I like going so fast,” Cas says.

“Don’t worry—I won’t let you fall,” Dean says, turning a little to the left because they’ve been doing laps around the edge of the rink, and they’re coming up to a turn now. “Anyway, did you end up talking to Lucifer last night or not?”

“I did not want to talk to him while Michael was present, and he had to go right back to work after dinner, so no,” Cas replies. “I think he’ll have some time off tonight, though.”

“I don’t care what anyone says, y’know. I want you—I’ll always want you. No matter what,” Dean vows.

Before Cas can respond, someone goes whooshing past them, and Cas wobbles, startled. Dean pulls him to a stop, helping him stay upright, and glares at the culprit, who has stopped a few yards away and turned around to face them.

“Sorry!” Adam says. “Jo and Anna are after me!”

And then Dean catches sight of Jo and Anna, arms linked, coming up from behind Adam. Dean’s about to laugh, but then he realizes that they won’t be able to stop in time. Before he can even warn Cas, Jo and Anna crash into Adam, their momentum carrying them forward until they run into Dean and Cas. Dean makes a grab for the side of the rink, but his hand slips, and all five of them go crashing to the ice.

“Ow!” Adam complains loudly over the sound of Victor and Uriel’s combined laughter.

Dean gets his feet under him and sees Uriel hanging onto the barrier because he’s laughing so hard. “Oh, fuck you!” he says without any heat behind it before going to help Cas to his feet.

“Is everyone okay?” a stranger asks, and Dean sees from the uniform that she’s one of the workers here.

“Yep, we’re fine, I think,” Anna says, sitting up.

“You’re both the _worst_ ,” Adam gripes as he gets onto hands and knees. Dean guides Cas to the side of the rink before extending a hand to help Adam up.

“Au contraire, I thought that was rather fun,” Jo says, straightening her jacket

“Yeah? How ‘bout I push you over, now?” Dean says.

“Oh, I dare you to, mister,” Jo responds, skating over to Anna.

“Why were you chasing Adam?” Cas asks as Victor and Uriel come over to join the group.

“He made the mistake of mentioning that he had a crush,” Anna says. “And now he won’t say who it is.”

“Oh, really?” Cas says, looking over at Adam with interest. “Who is it? Is it someone we know?”

“Oh god, don’t—”

“Well, it _has_ to be someone we know,” Dean says. “Adam doesn’t hang out with many people that we don’t know, right?”

“Hey, Dean, what were you and Cas talking about before we interrupted you?” Adam asks, desperate.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Dean says, but Cas’s hand lands on his arm then, and everyone’s attention in the group shifts to him.

“I think we should tell them,” Cas says quietly.

If Cas wants to tell them, then that’s what they’ll do. So Dean says, “Cas and I are planning to mate.”

It takes a moment for the information to sink in, and then Jo says, “Hey, good for you!”

“But shouldn’t you guys wait?” Anna asks next, and her eyes are on Dean and Cas, so she misses the disapproving look Jo shoots in her direction, but Dean catches it.

“We don’t want to,” Cas says.

Looking around at the group, though, it seems most of them aren’t so good with the idea. Uriel and Adam look concerned, Anna’s already voiced her opinion, and Victor seems uncertain.

“Dude. Way to be supportive, guys,” Jo says.

“We shouldn’t be supportive if we’re not sure of their decision,” Uriel says, eyes fixed on Dean mistrustfully. He and Dean have gotten a lot closer in the months since they met, but it’s obvious that Uriel still doesn’t trust Dean.

“You can’t change our minds,” Dean says, meeting Uriel’s eyes evenly. Casting his gaze around the group, he adds, “Besides, you want us to be happy, don’t you?”

“But this is kind of a big deal,” Adam says, drifting closer to Cas. “Are you really sure about this?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so sure in my entire life,” Cas answers.

“How about your families, then?” Anna asks.

“This is our choice, not theirs,” Cas says.

“So they don’t approve,” Anna guesses.

“That doesn’t matter,” Cas says. “We can ask for others’ opinions, but in the end, we are the ones who will be mating, not our families.”

“Let us know when it’s done, then,” Victor says. “We’ll treat you to dinner or something.”

“We will,” Dean says.

Anna looks like she still has more to say, but Jo drags her away before she can get it out. Victor gives Dean a pointed look before skating off toward the middle of the rink, and Dean knows that they’ll be talking about this in more detail, later. Oh, joy.

“So, Adam, who’s your crush?” Dean asks, and Adam groans.

* * *

Castiel gets home a little after nine o’clock that night and finds the house seemingly empty. He recalls Gabriel saying that he would go to visit Michael at work, so they might be at the bar already. Castiel saw Lucifer’s car in the driveway, though, so he goes upstairs and knocks lightly on his bedroom door.

There’s no response initially, and it takes a few minutes of knocking and waiting before Lucifer finally opens the door. “What do you _want?_ ” he asks, looking exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. “I… I need to talk to you.”

Sighing, Lucifer backs into his room and goes to lie down on his bed. Castiel sits on the bed opposite, the one that Gabriel uses when he comes home for the holidays.

“Dean and I intend to mate in the near future.”

There’s a pause, and then Lucifer says, “And?”

Surprised, Castiel says, “And I… wanted your opinion on the matter.”

Still lying on his back, Lucifer turns his head to face Castiel and says, “If it’s what you want, you’re going to do it. What does it matter what I think?” Before Castiel can respond, he goes on, “Just—if you make your decision final, I expect you to handle the consequences.”

“Of course I would,” Castiel says. “But—I expected you to disapprove.”

“I can’t say it’s a smart move, getting mated so early,” Lucifer allows, looking back up at the ceiling. “As a medical man, I do feel obligated to tell you two things. First, if the bite isn’t consensual from both sides, the bond won’t take. So to spare yourselves the humiliation, make _absolutely_ sure that it’s what you want; otherwise, it’ll be fairly obvious that one of you isn’t as keen as you claim to be.”

“We’re sure,” Castiel puts in, but Lucifer just continues on to his next point.

“Second, alphas under the age of twenty-one are still largely governed by their instincts, and they’re far more… impulsive, haven’t matured enough to control themselves entirely—this I know firsthand. You would be much safer if you and Dean waited until he was completely stable before mating. It is a lifelong connection, unbreakable except through death, and while it _can_ fade—”

“Why would we ever want it to fade?” Castiel interjects.

Lucifer turns his head in Castiel’s direction again and answers, “You never know how things are gonna change until they do. Who knows what might happen in the future? Anyway, I just wanted to say that the bond will never go away entirely. Are you really that certain you want to give him control over—”

“He’s promised never to use that against me,” Castiel says.

“But how can you be sure?”

“I just am.”

Lucifer studies Castiel for a long moment. Finally, he concludes, “Yes, I suppose you are.”

* * *

When Michael and Gabriel come home about an hour and a half later, Lucifer is already back at the hospital, and Castiel is downstairs, curled up with the novel that Mr. Carlton instructed them to read over break. Gabriel is very drunk, giggling and jabbering nonsensically, and after helping him upstairs, Michael returns to the living room and sinks down onto the couch next to Castiel.

“Long night?” Castiel asks, checking the page number before snapping his book shut.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Did you have a chance to talk to Lucifer?”

“Yes. He supports us,” Castiel says, watching Michael closely.

“Okay, then.”

Castiel waits a moment before saying, “That’s all?”

“That’s all. I still feel that it’s a mistake, but…” Michael lets his voice fade.

Licking his lips, Castiel says, “Michael, I haven’t told anybody this, but—when I scented Dean for the first time, two words popped into my head, even before I’d seen his face, and they were, _it’s him_.”

He remembers it so clearly, like it was yesterday. The smell had come from behind him, and he’d wanted more than anything to surge up and bury his nose in the source of it, immerse himself in that scent until it clung to his skin, sank into his pores, became part of him.

It feels too personal to share so much detail with his brother, though, so he refrains and says, “I dismissed the feeling immediately because I didn’t understand, and I didn’t quite believe it. But Dean… Dean is the one, for me. I look at him now, and I see my future.”

“I believe you,” Michael says wearily. “All I wanted was for you to be more careful—to guard yourself against being hurt. I don’t know what I would do if he broke your heart.”

“Even if he did, I wouldn’t want you to do anything. But he won’t, so you have no reason to worry.”

After a pause, Michael says, “I know that my blessing means a great deal to you, but I can’t…” He stops and shakes his head. “Castiel, could you… wait? Not for a year, not for six months—I assume that’s longer than you and Dean had in mind. Just one month, maybe two. Take that time to let me get used to the idea, and to give yourselves some extra time—to prove that this isn’t just something you’re doing on impulse, that you’re actually serious about it. Could you do that?”

“Yes.”

Michael tilts his head to look at Castiel, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t need to discuss it with him first?”

“He’ll agree to this, if it means we’ll have your blessing. I know it,” Castiel says. “One month.”

Michael manages a small smile and closes his eyes again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regularly scheduled updates! There shouldn't be any more surprise chapters, because unfortunately, my birthday only comes once a year. But I'm super excited that I decided to post a surprise chapter on my birthday, because now Dean's birthday chapter lands on his birthday in real life, and I'm geeking out like a total moron bc obviously the stars aligned to make it so:D
> 
> So, happy birthday to Dean! And happy reading to you:)

It’s been kinda unspoken from the beginning that Cas isn’t big on sex.

He isn’t horny all the time the way Dean is, though Dean’s discovered in the past two months since Thanksgiving—since the first _I love you_ ’s they exchanged—that Cas does seem to get sort of an emotional boner, if that’s a thing. Cas gets all sorts of touch-needy, and Dean takes what he can get, even it if means going home and jerking off way more often than he’d ever admit.

It’s been maybe five years since Dean hit puberty—alphas typically reach physical maturity when they’re transitioning from preteen to teen—so he’s well past the age for getting his knot off on his own, but he’s come really friggin’ close this month, Cas’s scent still lingering around him whenever he gets down to it.

Now, it’s almost ten o’clock on a Sunday night, and they’re lying in Cas’s bed, engaging in some post-movie cuddling. Cas set his laptop back on his desk when they finished the movie about half an hour ago, and they’ve been lying in companionable silence since. Any minute now, Cas is gonna kick him out, even though Lucifer left for work twenty minutes ago and Michael won’t be back ‘til past midnight, because Cas is practically a saint and doesn’t even tell white lies if he can help it.

Cas shifts in Dean’s arms, and Dean prepares to be told to leave, but Cas only turns around to face him, eyes dark in the dim room.

“Hey,” Dean says, and his voice comes out a little raspier than he’d expected, so he clears his throat.

Cas closes his eyes and inhales, nice and slow, and Dean lets his eyes fall shut, too. The tip of Cas’s nose brushes the curve of Dean’s cheekbone then, and he holds still, letting Cas nose his way back to Dean’s ear. He shudders at the wet drag of a tongue along his jaw, cock stirring in his jeans.

“Cas,” he whispers.

Cas just shushes him, scooting closer and licking at Dean’s jaw again. His tongue slides up to Dean’s ear, and he takes Dean’s earlobe into his mouth, lightly teething at it.

“Cas, what are you—”

Dean’s voice cuts off into a groan when Cas releases his ear and latches onto his throat, sucking like he means it. The alpha in Dean feels threatened, rebels at the thought of an omega staking a claim on him like this, but Dean allows it, lets Cas mark him.

When Cas releases him, Dean pulls his head back a little, intending to kiss Cas’s cheek, but Cas presses against his shoulder, and Dean lets himself be pushed onto his back. Cas climbs over him and kisses him soundly, one hand braced on his shoulder and the other sliding around to cup the nape of his neck. Cas’s scent has gone subtly sweeter, and it takes Dean a moment to pinpoint it as arousal because Cas doesn’t get turned on easily.

“Cas, it’s getting late,” Dean gets out when Cas pulls away from his lips, and god, why the hell would he bring up the _time_ of all things, right when Cas is being so damn responsive to him?

But Cas seems undeterred, kissing his way down to Dean’s neck before biting down, a hell of a lot harder this time. The sudden pain has Dean’s sight shifting red, and he surges up with a low growl, rolling to the side and pinning Cas to the bed. He instantly panics, preparing to pull back, because he hadn’t meant to do that, but Cas’s hands are on his upper arms, sliding up to his shoulders and holding him close.

“Dude, if we keep going, I’m not gonna be able to leave,” Dean warns.

Cas just spreads his legs, letting Dean fall between them, and they both hiss as their groins come into contact. Dean grinds forward, unable to help it, and the unsteady breath that Cas draws is music to his ears. But no—they can’t—

“Mate me,” Cas whispers, lips brushing against Dean’s as he speaks.

“Cas,” Dean says, startled, but something’s shifted between them—he can _feel_ it, and his inner alpha is clamoring for him to _bite, claim, knot, breed_. No, Dean tells himself. “It hasn’t been a month, yet.”

“Dean, mate me,” Cas murmurs insistently, tongue flicking out to trace the shape of Dean’s lower lip, and Dean shudders with the effort of holding still. Cas coaxes a quick kiss from Dean’s lips and continues, “Please, Dean. I’m already yours—take me.”

Dean actually groans at these words, something fiercely possessive roaring to life in his chest. “Cas, you can’t just _say_ that,” he says, rocking his hips forward, and the honey-sweet note in Cas’s scent intensifies. “God, you’re wet, aren’t you?” Dean says, unsure why he’s even bothering to ask when it’s so obvious.

“So wet,” Cas confirms, and he’s starting to move under Dean, little, inexperienced jerks of his hips. “So wet, and so empty.”

“Fuck,” Dean hisses. He agreed to wait for a month, and they technically still have almost exactly a week left to go ‘til the twenty-seventh, but if Cas really wants this now, Dean doesn’t think he has it in him to resist. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“I’m ready, Dean,” Cas says. “I just—the time feels right.”

But this gives Dean pause, because he wants Cas to _want_ this. If Cas is only doing this because “the time feels right,” then Dean would rather not do it at all.

His hesitation must mean something different to Cas, though, because suddenly Cas’s eyes are wide, and there’s more than a little hurt, acrid and unpleasant, seeping into his scent. “Dean?” he says. “I—I’m sorry. I thought you—”

“No, I want you,” Dean says quickly, hips grinding forward once so that there can be no missing just how hard he is right now. “I just need to be sure that you actually want this.”

Cas nods, pulling Dean’s head down for a kiss and then turning his own head to the side, offering up the beautiful, unblemished length of his neck. Dean’s mouth waters as Cas says, “Scent me.”

Dean lowers his head some more, pressing the tip of his nose against the hollow just beneath Cas’s ear and pulling in Cas’s scent. _Fuck_ , it’s just as good as always, even better with added hints of vanilla and honey, and yeah, Cas wants this. Cas wants _Dean_. “God, I want to fuck you so bad,” Dean breathes.

“Then fuck me,” Cas says, and Dean’s breath catches at the unexpected profanity coming from Cas.

Then Cas’s hands are at the waistband of Dean’s jeans, sliding between their bodies to get at the button, and Dean quickly grabs his hands, stopping him. “We don’t have to just because I want to,” Dean says—sex is totally not a prerequisite for a mating bond, after all.

“Stop doubting that I want you, Dean Winchester,” Cas growls, shaking Dean’s hands off and returning them to the snap of Dean’s jeans.

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, backing off the bed because it’ll be easier to get all his clothes off and out of the way, and when he’s stripped down, he looks back at the bed in time to see Cas pushing his boxers off and tossing them to the side. The smell of apples, honey-glazed and cinnamon-y, is so much stronger than it was before, and holy _shit_ , this is _really happening_ —

“Dean,” Cas says quietly, and right, yeah, they’re kinda in the middle of something.

Dean climbs back onto the bed and stops by Cas’s legs, kissing the side of his knee and dragging his lips up the inside of his thigh. When he glances up, Cas’s eyes are wide and dark, staring down at him, and god, Dean’s fantasized about finally fucking Cas so many times that he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

But Cas takes the decision away from him, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and tugging him upward. So Dean crawls the rest of the way up Cas’s body, dropping kisses now and then because sure, he’s seen Cas in a speedo at swim practice, but he’s never been able to touch, not like this. He’s never been able to run his tongue along the grooves of Cas’s abs, feel them flexing under him.

Omegas usually have less hair than alphas, but Cas is completely hairless, must have shaved very recently—he claims that body hair causes drag when he’s racing. Dean doesn’t know whether or not that’s true, but he revels in the silky smoothness of Cas’s skin until Cas gets impatient and yanks at his hair, bringing him up for a long, filthy kiss.

The change in position brings Dean’s dick into contact with Cas’s hipbone, and he groans, shifting a little to line himself up next to Cas before thrusting forward. Cas breaks their kiss with a startled gasp, and Dean reaches down, wrapping his hand around them both and jerking them slowly.

“God, you’re perfect,” Dean whispers, drinking in the flush on Cas’s cheeks, the darkness in his eyes, the way his mouth has dropped open just a little.

“Dean,” Cas says, shifting uncomfortably.

He pushes Dean’s hand out of the way and wriggles up the bed a little. Cas’s hips tilt upward slightly, legs spreading wider to make his hole more accessible, and Dean groans, bringing his fingers down to circle Cas’s puckered rim. He finds it wet, practically dripping with slick, and it’s all too easy to just slip two fingers inside, Cas’s body already prepared for the main event.

Cas makes a shocked, breathy sound as Dean’s fingers sink in, and Dean holds still, fingers halfway enveloped in slick heat. God, just _imagining_ how good it’s gonna feel around his cock makes his vision go red around the edges.

“Dean, I’m ready,” Cas gets out, pushing at Dean’s wrist.

But Dean doesn’t remove his fingers, shoving them farther in instead and punching a moan out of Cas. “You sure about that?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas groans, grinding down on Dean’s fingers. “Just—get inside me.”

“Okay,” Dean says, drawing his fingers out. Cas whines at the loss, hips bucking impatiently, and Dean shifts downward a little, jacking himself twice to spread Cas’s slick and his own precome over his length, and fuck, he still kinda can’t believe this is _real_ , not a dream. “Okay,” he repeats, lining himself up. He spares a moment to be relieved that Cas hasn’t gotten his first heat yet—that he’s not fertile yet—because Dean doesn’t have any condoms on him, and he and Cas definitely aren’t ready to have a baby.

Taking a deep breath, Dean starts to press inward.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers, because Cas is hot and wet and tight-so-tight, but he opens up for Dean so perfectly, whimpering as Dean presses in, nice and slow. “ _Oh_ , holy shit.”

“Dean,” Cas gasps, fingers digging into the backs of Dean’s shoulders, but he’s shifting restlessly, muscles clenching around Dean exquisitely, and Dean thinks he might be going out of his mind. “Dean, please, I need—need more,” Cas whispers, lifting his head to press kisses all along Dean’s jaw. “I can feel you holding back, but I—I need all of you.”

Cas rests his head back down on the bed and turns it to the side to bare his neck, a reminder that Dean hasn’t bitten Cas yet, hasn’t claimed him. Dean nuzzles Cas’s neck instead of biting it and continues his slow pace, even though he’s pretty sure he could slam the rest of the way in without hurting him. He feels like he needs to prove himself, to show Cas that he’s in control.

Then Cas’s legs come up to wrap around his waist, pulling him in, and Dean’s control wavers enough for his alpha to take over, just for a moment, but it’s enough for Dean to shove straight in to the hilt. Cas yelps, emanating satisfaction and desire and _love_ , and Dean thinks he could die happy drowning in this scent.

He rolls his hips in small motions, and holy fucking _shit_ , he’s actually _inside_ Cas, as far in as he can get. Cas starts moving with him, fucking back against Dean, and god, Dean can’t help but speed up, pushing his dick into Cas faster and harder.

Cas cries out with each inward thrust, hands slipping down Dean’s back to rest on his ass, urging Dean to pick up the pace even more. Dean pulls out of Cas entirely and sits back on his heels, ignoring the sounds of protest that Cas is making because he’s got something _so_ satisfying on his mind. He lifts Cas’s hips and drags him down the bed a little before impaling him on Dean’s dick. Cas wails wordlessly, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open, hands flying up to clutch at Dean’s forearms even as Dean starts lifting Cas up and slamming him back down.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean encourages, hips thrusting up a little each time he rams Cas back down. “Come for me. C’mon, baby, come now, just for me.”

“I ca— _can’t_ ,” Cas moans, writhing in pleasure, and Dean watches the way his body jerks with each thrust, long and sinuous, muscles clenching and relaxing along his abdomen. He’s fucking _dizzy_ , head filled with Cas’s divine scent.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, you can—for me, Cas,” Dean pants, adjusting the angle slightly and shoving upward as he pulls Cas’s hips down, and Cas actually lets out a _scream_ , mouth falling slack.

Dean keeps up that angle, and Cas babbles, strings of _moremoremore_ , _please, yes, please—right there!_

The words start blending together, and Dean looks down, watching himself sinking into Cas’s hole, slick and rippling around him, and _fuck_ , he’s getting close.

“Cas, _c’mon_ ,” he grits out, forearms starting to burn a little.

“Buh—bite,” Cas gasps between thrusts, somehow managing to push himself up onto his elbows before grasping Dean’s forearm and climbing his way into Dean’s lap. He winds his arms around Dean’s neck, pressing his cheek against Dean’s and leaving his neck fully exposed to Dean’s mouth.

Dean slows then, a shudder passing through him as his alpha takes in Cas’s submission, and he can scent it, can _feel_ how much Cas wants this—he’s known that mating had to be a mutual decision borne from mutual desire, but he’d never thought that his inner alpha would be completely aware of just how receptive his prospective omega would be.

“No,” Dean mutters, rolling his hips. “No, you’re not gonna get the bite ‘til you come for me.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas complains, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck, Cas, love you so much,” Dean grunts, head dropping forward and eyes falling shut as he puts everything he’s got into the next thrusts, drilling up into Cas. His tongue slips out of his mouth, tasting the sweat collected in the dip of Cas’s left collarbone, mouthing his way up to Cas’s neck, and he can feel Cas’s pulse under his lips, rabbit-fast with excitement and anticipation.

“Bite me, Dean— _please_ —” Cas begs.

And fuck, Dean doesn’t think he can hold off any longer, his alpha impatient to claim this omega, _own_ him, so he opens his mouth wide and sinks his teeth in, nice and hard.

The world slows down.

Cas stiffens with a long cry, muffled to Dean’s ears, and Dean is distantly aware that Cas is coming, painting their chests. Dean’s hands slip a little where they’ve been clutching at Cas’s back and shoulder blade as something inside him shifts, _realigns_ , rips him to shreds and weaves him back together with threads of _Castiel_.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Dean groans, and suddenly he can hear again. The world speeds back up.

Dean’s still inside Cas, but he’s stopped moving, reeling from the mating, and when his eyes focus, he sees a track of blood going just past Cas’s collarbone, down his heaving chest.

“Dean,” Cas pants, soft, “finish it. Knot me.”

“What?” Dean says, eyes wide. He’s only actually knotted inside someone once, with Amanda Heckerling—it had been his first time, and he hadn’t really known the signs, so he’d realized a few seconds too late that he should have pulled out.

Cas kisses Dean, but they’re both still so out of breath that it’s more a brief pressing of parted lips than anything else, and he says, with conviction, “Knot me.”

“Oh, god, Cas,” Dean groans, leaning forward and settling Cas back down on the mattress before resuming his thrusting. “God, you’re perfect.”

Cas whimpers when Dean strikes his prostate, and Dean mouths sloppily at his cheeks and neck, muttering nonsense because he can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut now that he’s close, _so_ close. Cas wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and rubs his hands up and down Dean’s back, enveloping Dean in his scent.

“Fuh— _fuck_ ,” Dean moans as he crests, plunging deep into Cas and coming and coming and _coming_. His knot swells up, locking him inside, and fuck if it isn’t the best thing he’s ever felt. It seems to last forever, waves of pleasure coursing through Dean until it’s almost too much, _too_ good.

Cas holds him as he shakes through his orgasm, grounding and unbelievably steady, given he’s probably oversensitive and maybe in a little pain—isn’t the first time taking a knot supposed to hurt for an omega? Jesus, the last thing Dean ever wanted to do was to hurt Cas, but now he’s gone and knotted him, and—

“Dean,” Cas chastises, shifting a little and tugging at Dean’s knot in the process.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean spits at the unexpected jolt of pleasure.

“I can scent your guilt,” Cas murmurs, “and it is completely unjustified. This was—this was exactly what I wanted. Better than what I’d wanted. It was… so much more than I’d expected.”

And holy fucking shit, Dean can _smell_ Cas’s honesty, so clear and open, and another scent, something that he identifies as satisfaction, bone-deep and so, so sweet. “I love you, Cas,” is all he can think to say.

Cas beams at him and responds, “I love you too, Dean.”

* * *

“There’s… something different about you, today,” Layla Rourke says when Mr. Creaser tells the class to partner up and quiz each other on key terms.

“Uh… it’s my birthday?” Dean tries. It’s the third day since he and Cas mated, so maybe his scent has finally finished transitioning, but he isn’t about to give away the fact that he’s mated, even if Layla is his ridiculously sweet go-to partner in his government class.

“Oh. Happy birthday, then,” Layla says with a smile. “But that’s not it—your scent has definitely changed. I noticed yesterday, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t bring it up. Now, though, I’m certain.”

“I don’t—”

“I wish the best for you and Cas.”

Dean hesitates, frowning, and is startled and mortified to find that he’s blushing a little. “How’d you know it was Cas?” he asks.

Layla just smiles again. “I’ve seen you with him a lot, Dean. At this point, who _doesn’t_ know?”

When Dean’s response is to blush harder, Layla covers her mouth to stifle a laugh, and Dean braces himself for some playful ribbing. But she mercifully turns her attention to the list of key terms on her desk instead, and Dean pats himself on the back for his excellent judgment of character, because Layla is _awesome_.

* * *

After school, Anna drops Castiel off in front of Dean’s house, as requested, and Adam wishes him luck before letting him out of the car. Anna gives him a reassuring smile, and then Castiel starts up the driveway. He rings on the doorbell, glancing behind himself to find that Anna’s car is still idling in the street, waiting for him to be let in before leaving.

Mary opens the door and smiles when she sees that it’s Castiel. “Hello,” she says, pulling him into a quick hug. She waves, looking over Castiel’s shoulder, and when Castiel looks back, he sees Anna and Adam waving back.

“Thank you for helping me,” Castiel says as he steps into the house. “My brothers can manage cooking regular meals, but they’re remarkably unhelpful when it comes to baking.”

“I haven’t even helped you, yet,” Mary points out.

“Yes, well—thank you in advance, then.”

Mary laughs and puts an arm around Castiel. “You’re family,” she says as she steers him toward the kitchen, and Castiel feels ridiculously warm inside at her easy acceptance of him. “It’s my job to look after you and Dean at least a little.”

Castiel spends the better part of the afternoon baking an apple pie, following Mary’s instructions, and it comes out of the oven smelling magnificent. Mary hurries Castiel out of the house, wanting him out before Dean comes home so that she can spray some air freshener, mask the evidence of Castiel’s presence here.

Anna is there to pick him up, and they return to his house, where he sets the still-cooling pie on the countertop and changes into a clean outfit—he ended up dusted all over in flour, and he still feels a little guilty about the state of Mary’s kitchen.

In the evening, Anna takes Adam and Castiel to the Roadhouse, where they meet the rest of the group. Dean’s already at a table with Sam, Victor, and Uriel when they arrive.

“Happy birthday!” Castiel says with Anna and Adam as they approach the table.

“Hey, guys,” Dean says, getting up to give Anna and Adam each a quick hug. “All right, Sammy’s joining us today, so I want you guys to keep everything PG-13,” he says.

But as soon as he’s finished speaking, Castiel reaches him, and Dean draws him in for a long kiss, deep and wet and messy, that has the whole table groaning and gagging. They pull apart a moment later, and Castiel can’t help the blush rising on his cheeks when he sees everyone staring.

“God, you’re so disgusting it’s almost cute,” Anna says, sitting down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re adorable,” Dean replies.

Jo arrives just as Dean’s finished speaking, flinging her arms around Dean’s neck from behind and tugging him into a sort of chokehold. “Here’s the birthday boy!” she says.

Dean shoves her away from him and coughs exaggeratedly, massaging his neck. “I think you broke something,” he complains, but the others just laugh, and Jo goes to take the only remaining seat at the table.

A waiter comes by to take their drink orders, and Dean tells him that they already know their orders—they’re all pretty familiar with the menu at the Roadhouse.

About ten minutes into their meal, Jo’s mother, Ellen, stops by their table. Castiel has only seen her a few times, but he knows that she cares very much about both Sam and Dean.

“It’s about time you came around,” Ellen says, looking around the table. “Can’t remember the last time I saw all o’ you rascals.”

“That’s more Jo’s fault than anyone else’s,” Anna says, earning a light punch in the arm from her girlfriend—she and Jo started officially courting a few weeks ago, and Anna’s had dinner at Ellen’s house a few times already to test the waters. They seem to get along well.

“Anyway, if I remember correctly, today is Dean’s birthday. So happy birthday, kid. Tonight’s dinner is on the house,” Ellen announces, going to Dean’s chair to clap a hand on his shoulder as the others cheer.

Dean swivels a little in his seat to look up at her, and Castiel turns so that he can see as well. She hesitates, nostrils flaring, and Castiel watches as her gaze flicks over to him, connecting the dots. He tenses up involuntarily, fingers twisting together in his lap, and Dean’s hand is suddenly on his forearm, soothing him. But Ellen’s gaze is fond, not at all judgmental or disapproving, and Castiel manages a smile.

“Okay, Mom, can you go, now?” Jo says.

“Hey now, don’t be ungrateful,” Victor says, reaching past Anna to give Jo a shove.

“Enjoy your meal, guys,” Ellen says, ruffling Dean’s hair affectionately before walking away.

The others resume their conversations from before, and Castiel turns his attention back to his food, sticking his fork into a piece of butternut squash.

* * *

About two hours later, Castiel leans into Dean on the couch. They’ve just finished sampling Castiel’s pie—one slice for Castiel and two for Dean—and Castiel feels well-fed and content. In fact, if they stay in this position for much longer, he may actually fall asleep.

But he has an agenda for tonight, one that he isn’t willing to give up. So he tilts his head up and plants a few openmouthed kisses to Dean’s throat, shifting upward to reach his jaw.

“Cas,” Dean warns when Castiel straddles his lap.

“Dean,” Castiel responds, hands rubbing at Dean’s shoulders lightly.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

Castiel draws his lower lip into his mouth and bites down gently, looking up through his lashes at Dean the way he’s seen people do on TV. It had seemed like it would be awkward when he thought it up, but it seems to be working well enough on Dean, and when he grinds down a little, he finds Dean already starting to get hard.

“Fuck, Cas, I thought we uh—” Dean starts, but he’s derailed when Castiel starts kissing along his jaw.

Smiling a little, Castiel pulls back just enough to flick his tongue against the corner of Dean’s mouth, and as expected, Dean turns his head and kisses Castiel, one hand resting at the small of his back and the other sliding up between his shoulder blades. Dean’s hips start jerking upward in small movements that almost feel involuntary, and Castiel presses down against him, giving him the pressure he seeks.

“You thought we what?” Castiel prompts when they pull apart a little.

“We agreed not to have sex on school nights,” Dean answers, forehead resting against Castiel’s, but despite his words, his hips have not stopped thrusting.

“I’m willing to make an exception because today’s your birthday,” Castiel says, pausing in his motions, “but if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“Oh god, when did you become such a smartass?”

“I’ve always been a smartass,” Castiel responds.

“Shut up and get off me—we’re going to your room,” Dean growls, and Castiel practically leaps off him, taking off up the stairs because it’s exhilarating to know that Dean’s gonna chase him.

It’s a belated realization: where Castiel goes, Dean will follow. Castiel is amazed at the amount of power that he has, proud of Dean for keeping his promise, even if it’s only been a few days since they formed the bond. It pulses strongly between them, and Castiel can’t help but marvel at the circumstances that brought them to this point.

And then Dean’s lifting him right off his feet and tossing him onto the bed, pinning him down. “Gotcha,” Dean whispers, grinning, and plants a filthy, utterly distracting kiss on Castiel’s lips.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel feels a little sick when he wakes up, but at least it’s a Saturday—if he gets worse, he’ll still have tomorrow to recover before school starts. The clock on his nightstand says that it’s already nine o’clock though, which means it’s too late to make breakfast for Michael before work—he should be gone by now. Chewing a little on his lower lip, Castiel resolves to make up for it by putting something together for dinner. Maybe he’ll even be able to get Dean to help.

Speaking of Dean, Castiel is supposed to meet him in about half an hour, by their tree. Sighing, he lies in bed until it’s almost nine thirty before getting out of bed and pulling a jacket on over the baggy t-shirt that he wore to sleep last night—feeling feverish is a good enough excuse for him to be careless about his appearance. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he goes straight downstairs, not bothering to change out of his sweats.

Outside, Castiel crosses the street and starts walking through the park, making a beeline toward their tree. There’s really no reason for them to still be meeting here—now that they’re mated, no one can try to discourage them from spending too much time together.

It takes less than a minute for him to get to their tree, and Dean’s already there, sitting on the bench with his back to Castiel. He gets to his feet before Castiel can reach him, and when he turns, he’s smiling.

“Smelled you coming,” Dean says by way of explanation.

Castiel hadn’t even realized that there was a breeze. He shifts, uncomfortable and slightly hot.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks as Castiel reaches him.

“I just feel a little unwell,” Castiel responds, sitting down. His shoulders hunch inward, and he’s tempted to remove his jacket, but Lucifer’s told him that it’s best to sweat out a fever—in fact, he should probably return to bed soon.

“Unwell?” Dean repeats, sitting next to Castiel and reaching up to put a hand on his forehead. “Dude, you’re burning up,” he observes, eyes worried. “Maybe we should take to you the emergency room.”

Castiel _does_ feel like he’s a little overheated, and maybe it _would_ be best if he got himself checked out—better safe than sorry, in any case. “Yes, you’re right,” he says, skin beginning to itch all over because he’s _hot_ , and the clothing that he’s wearing isn’t allowing the heat to pass through.

But when he looks up at Dean, he sees that his mate’s pupils are dilating rapidly, nostrils flaring, and before Castiel can ask, Dean shakes his head quickly, breathing a little unevenly. Then Castiel smells Dean’s arousal, musky and enticing and irresistible, and all he wants is to hide his face in Dean’s neck and make Dean fix him.

“Cas, I—” Dean pauses to swallow before starting over, “I think you’re in heat.”

“Shit,” Castiel curses, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, “swim tryouts are this Tuesday. If I’m in heat, I won’t be able to go.”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “You’re going into heat, and _swim practice_ is what you’re thinking about? Let’s get you home. _Now_.”

Castiel is barely aware of the walk back to his house, even less cognizant of the climb up to his bedroom, but he is _acutely_ aware when Dean starts peeling off his clothing, starting with his jacket and then yanking his shirt right off. It’s soaked through with sweat, and Castiel shoves at his pants, not really getting anywhere with them until Dean helps him. Castiel’s almost shaking, heat pouring off him in waves, and he thinks he might _die_ if this continues for much longer.

It only gets worse when Castiel feels that melting, _good_ -hot sensation that usually means he’s starting to get wet, and suddenly he feels empty, gaping, as though Dean’s been fingering him, teasing him, for _hours_. How do people endure this?

Dean presses Castiel onto his back, yanking his boxers off afterwards, and Castiel feels himself leaking onto the sheets, but he just can’t _care_ when Dean isn’t close. He makes a grab for his mate, his alpha, and Dean strips down quickly—not quickly _enough_. But finally, he crawls onto the bed, lowering himself down over Castiel, and his skin is blessedly cool against Castiel’s too-hot body.

“Oh god, you’re hot,” Dean mutters, and Castiel is unsurprised to feel Dean’s cock twitching against his inner thigh. Fuck, he wants it inside, wants that delicious, hard length to fill the void inside him.

“Fuck me, Dean,” Castiel pleads, tilting his head back to bare his neck, appealing to Dean’s alpha side because he and Dean have really only been mated for two weeks, and sometimes it’s easier to convince Dean to speed things up in bed when Castiel provokes his alpha instincts into action.

There is the press of something against Castiel’s hole, and he could cry with relief, but when it pushes inside, Castiel realizes that it’s Dean’s finger, just one, and he huffs, fucking back against it anyway because something is better than nothing.

“Please—need more,” he says.

“Yeah, okay. I got you, baby. I got you,” Dean says, but Castiel can scent that he’s nervous—he’s probably never helped an omega through heat before.

Two fingers slide into him, but Castiel makes a sound of discontent, and Dean quickly adds a third. That’s marginally better, but Castiel would really rather have Dean’s cock inside him, thick and overwhelming and perfect. Even better would be his knot—oh, _god_ , Castiel would _die_ to be knotted right in this second. Dean’s rutting against his thigh, and Castiel can’t help but feel that his dick could be put to far better use.

“Here, let me just get you through this,” Dean says, pressing quick kisses all over Castiel’s face. “If we can get you through the first wave, I can go out and get condoms.”

And _shit_ , Castiel hadn’t even been thinking about that. They haven’t had to worry about it in the past, but with heat comes fertility, and if omegas have sex during their heats, they’re almost guaranteed to get pregnant.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Castiel hisses, arching his back to get as much contact between his body and Dean’s as possible. “Fuck, I just—need your knot.”

“I know, Cas, I know. Just—let me get you through this.”

Dean’s fingers pump in and out of him, and they’re nice, but not enough, not _nearly_ enough, and Castiel tosses his head from side to side, whining. He endures a few long minutes of Dean fucking him with his fingers, Castiel tugging on his own dick even though that stimulation isn’t half as useful as the jolts to his prostate that Dean is dealing with each inward shove of his fingers.

“Dean— _Dean_ —it’s not enough,” Castiel finally gets out, unable to take it any longer. “Your knot—I need your knot.”

Dean groans, still pushing his fingers into Castiel, and says, “Okay, I uh, I can go out and get some condoms right now, but—”

“No, don’t leave me,” Castiel says, shaking his head.

“Michael and Lucifer,” Dean says suddenly, bringing his free hand up to cup Castiel’s cheek and hold his head still. “Would they have any?”

Castiel gasps at a particularly hard thrust of Dean’s fingers before responding, “Unlikely—they don’t have much free time, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, goddamn it,” Dean spits, pulling his fingers out.

Castiel makes an unattractive, plaintive sound that he hadn’t even known he was capable of making, fingers scrabbling at Dean’s forearm in an attempt to pull his hand back into position.

“Let me just—I’m gonna check the bathroom,” Dean says, getting off the bed, and Castiel whines, slipping his own fingers into his hole. He fits three fingers in easily and starts nudging the rim with his pinky, stretching himself farther because he needs _more_.

Dean pulls the bedroom door open and is about to step out when he stops, taking a quick step to his left to hide most of his body behind the door, and damn it, is someone at home right now?

“Oh, _whoa_ ,” Castiel hears, and it’s Lucifer, shit. “Cas, is that _you?_ ”

Dean’s practically growling now, an instinctive reaction to another alpha in such close proximity to him and his mate, and Castiel forces himself to remain calm, because if he’s alarmed, it’ll only make Dean worse. He makes a soft, needy noise, pulling Dean’s attention back to him.

“Dean, come back, please,” Castiel says, making himself sound as pitiful as possible. It’s not hard, with the state he’s currently in, and Dean goes to him immediately, nuzzling at his neck and gently running hands up and down his sides to try to bring his temperature down a little.

“Cas?” Lucifer says hesitantly, a little bit closer now.

Castiel thinks he could die of embarrassment, the scent of him in heat apparently strong enough that it woke his brother from across the hall. “Just—don’t come in here,” Castiel manages.

“Right,” Lucifer says. Castiel is about to ask, trying to find the words, when Lucifer gasps and says, “Oh! Condoms. I’ll—I’ll be right back.”

Castiel hears Lucifer’s footsteps going down the steps, and Dean relaxes noticeably, the aggression fading out of his scent now that the other alpha is gone.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean mutters, mouthing at his neck. His fingers bump against Castiel’s, and Castiel lets his hand fall away so that Dean’s fingers can take the place of his own.

“ _Oh_. Dean,” he whispers, because Dean’s fingers are thicker than his, cooler, and it feels like he’s _molten_ inside, hot and itchy and unbearable. He needs to be knotted, needs to be _full_ , and it doesn’t matter that Dean’s pressing kisses all over his face and neck, murmuring soothing words into his skin, licking down to his chest and biting at his collarbones, because he’s _empty_ , and he _needs_ —

An eternity passes before Dean stiffens up defensively, chest rumbling a little, a signal that he’s scented a threat—Lucifer. Castiel forces himself to focus, lightly scratches through the short hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck and presses Dean’s nose to the base of Castiel’s neck, hoping to ground him.

A small box lands on the bed, and then the door is pulled shut from the outside.

“Dean. Dean—inside, knot, _please_ ,” Castiel gasps out, spreading his legs a little wider.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Dean says gruffly, pulling away from Castiel to pick up the box. He fumbles to get it open, pulling out a foil packet when he does, and Castiel slides his own fingers back into his hole, unable to stand being empty. He doesn’t think he’s ever known desperation before this.

Finally, Dean yanks Castiel’s hand out of the way, and the blunt head of his cock is positioned just against the pucker of Castiel’s hole. “Cas,” Dean says softly, and Castiel manages to meet his mate’s eyes, sees how blown Dean’s pupils are. He nods quickly, and Dean shoves inside in one quick thrust.

Castiel actually _wails_ with relief, tossing his head back and stretching himself out, silently inviting his alpha to lie back down over him. Thankfully, Dean takes the hint, covering Castiel’s body with his, and this is better— _much_ better.

“Please move,” Castiel says as the need rises up again.

Dean nods, bracing himself on his elbows before pulling out and shoving back in forcefully. Castiel’s breath leaves him in a huff, and he brings his hands up behind Dean, clinging to his shoulders from behind when Dean really gets a rhythm going. It’s better than the other times that he and Dean have had sex, Castiel’s insides far more sensitized now that he’s in heat, now that his hormones are taking control over him, clouding his mind.

“ _Jesus_ , Cas,” Dean hisses, fucking in harder, and Castiel doesn’t even bother trying to suppress the embarrassingly loud sounds winding their way out of his throat each time Dean hits his prostate.

“Dean,” Castiel says thinly, shoving back into Dean’s thrusts as best he can, “Dean, puh— _please_.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean encourages, driving into Castiel nice and hard and fast. “That’s it, baby, you’re so good— _so_ _good_ —for me.”

Castiel whines, because there’s absolutely no reason why Dean shouldn’t be knotted inside him already. He needs to be stretched, needs to be filled to the brim, over and over until he has Dean’s pups—

There’s a moment of blind terror at the thought that just went through his head, but Castiel has no time to dwell on it because his mind whites out, excruciating pressure finally being allowed its release. Castiel might be screaming, but he doesn’t hear anything, and he isn’t sure whether it’s because he just can’t hear right now or he isn’t actually making any noise.

By the time he returns to himself, Dean is already locked up inside him, tight and snug, and Castiel clenches around him, forcing a grunt out of him.

“ _Goddamn_ ,” Dean curses, lifting his torso and bracing himself above Castiel on his elbows.

Castiel leans up into a kiss, short and sweet, and when he rests his head against the mattress again, he says hoarsely, “I hadn’t expected that level of intensity.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean says, eyes amused. Taking a deep breath, he asks, “So uh, how long do you think we have ‘til the next wave of heat?”

Castiel frowns. “This is my first time, you know.”

“Sure, but I figured you would’ve been paying attention in health class, y’know? It was longer ago for me than for you.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers truthfully. “It supposedly varies from person to person, so we’ll just have to learn as we go.”

“Hmm well, no complaints here,” Dean murmurs, shifting his hips so that his knot pulls at Castiel’s rim. Castiel yelps, startled, and wriggles a little because the angle of his hips is starting to get uncomfortable. But before he can even voice his complaint, Dean rolls them over, letting Castiel rest on his chest. “Better?” Dean says, and Castiel nods.

“I am so lucky to have you,” he says, pushing up into a sitting position and watching the way Dean’s lips part soundlessly, the way his eyes go dark again, speculative.

“I think you’ve got it the wrong way around, Cas,” Dean answers just a little breathlessly, thumbs rubbing up and down the juts of Castiel’s hipbones.

Castiel only shakes his head and starts to ride Dean’s knot, losing himself in sensation.

* * *

At noon, Dean and Castiel make their way out of the room and downstairs because Castiel heard Dean’s stomach growling and insisted that they get some food in their systems. His heat doesn’t feel as severe at present, sated by about two hours of near-constant sex, and Castiel himself is starting to feel hungry as well.

They find Lucifer at the dining table with a cup of coffee and a medical journal on the table in front of him. “You two really ought to shower,” he comments as they come toward him. “You’re spreading your stink all around the house. Then again, I won’t be here much longer today, so… have at.”

Dean sits Castiel down at the table. “I’ll whip something up,” he offers, walking into the kitchen.

“I think we have eggs in the fridge, but I don’t know what else is in there,” Castiel says.

“Mm, okay,” Dean says, pulling the refrigerator open. “Lucifer, you want anything?”

“I suppose I have time,” Lucifer responds. “Besides, providing a meal is the least the two of you can do, after interrupting my much-needed beauty sleep with a condom run.”

Castiel flushes, and he hears Dean coughing in the kitchen. “Thank you, Lucifer.”

“Hey, what are brothers for?” Lucifer says flippantly. “I was scheduled for a five-hour break today—rare, those. I was about two hours into a glorious nap when I smelled—well, _you_ —and then I heard you moaning, so naturally I had to check on you.”

“Sorry for waking you,” Dean says.

“Eh, it was fine. I finished my nap in Michael’s bed, downstairs. Where I couldn’t hear you guys as clearly,” Lucifer says. “Anyway, after you two finish eating, you ought to make a trip to the hospital, have the doctor set him up with some meds for his heats. Just the daily kind, though—we wanna try to avoid suppressing if we can.”

“Why’s that?” Castiel asks.

“An overabundance of hormones in anyone’s system is never a good thing,” Lucifer answers readily. “In any case, you should only take meds on the days that you have school, because they’ll get you through the school day. Weekends… well. I think the two of you have figured out how to get through those.”

Castiel can feel himself blushing again at the thought of how he and Dean are going to be spending the rest of their weekend. He can’t really think of anything to say in response, but Lucifer seems content enough to return to his medical journal, so Castiel just remains silent.

* * *

“It’s kinda pointless for me to be here,” Dean says. “I mean, I’m not even gonna know who’s fast and who’s not, y’know?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Uriel says. “I’ve been attending Anna’s swim meets since she was very little, and I’ve been to enough of their high school meets.”

“Yeah, I gotcha,” Dean says.

He and Uriel are seated together on a set of low bleachers, accompanied by very few other spectators, watching as the potential members of the swim team do laps in the pool to get warmed up for swim tryouts. Dean can’t really get over how graceful Cas looks out there, slicing through the water like there’s no resistance at all.

“Hello, Dean, Uriel,” a familiar voice says, and Dean tears his eyes away from Cas to see Coach Jones standing by the bleachers, directly in front of Uriel.

“Oh hey, Mr. Jones,” Dean says.

“Here to see Cas?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

“I hope your presence won’t be distracting to him. Last thing I need is for one of my best new swimmers to lose focus before the season even begins.”

“Don’t worry—Cas is very focused,” Uriel says.

“I sure hope so, boys,” Mr. Jones says, and then he’s turning away and blowing his whistle.

“Hey, do you think he’d find a way to punish me if I really did end up ‘distracting’ Cas, whatever that’s supposed to mean?” Dean asks, looking over at Uriel as Mr. Jones starts shouting for the swimmers to get out of the water and line up behind the blocks.

“Not sure. I wouldn’t put it past him, though,” Uriel responds. “From what I saw at the meets against you guys in the past, he cares very much about this team.”

The swimmers line up, and Dean spots Anna, Cas, and Adam all in the same line for one of the lanes closer to the bleachers. Cas looks in his direction and waves, so Anna and Adam wave as well. Dean grins and holds up a hand in acknowledgement.

“Where is Victor?” Uriel asks. “Anna explained why Jo couldn’t come, but she said nothing about Victor.”

Dean barks out a laugh. “He’s uh, nervous. Getting ready for his date, y’know. I’m supposed to go to his place after this and help him pick out a goddamn suit.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Uriel says, squinting at Dean. “You’re not fucking with me.”

“No,” Dean says.

“Who’s his date? Why don’t I know about this?”

“No one’s supposed to know,” Dean replies, chuckling. “Hell, _I_ wasn’t even supposed to know. I only know because Cas is friends with the girl. Her name is Nancy, and I think she’s a junior.”

“Oh, Nancy. We’ve spoken before. She’s a very sweet girl.” He pauses a moment, considering, before saying, “I think she and Victor would be quite compatible, actually. Not as compatible as you and Cas apparently are, though.”

“Yep. There’s no fighting a love like ours,” Dean says lightly. He knows that Uriel has accepted him as Cas’s mate because he had no other choice, and it hasn’t been long enough for him to realize that they’re perfect for each other. But Dean believes that Uriel will come around soon enough.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, we're winding down. *sweats nervously*
> 
> Also, I've started work on the third fic of the series. I'm only about 4k in, still working on the first year (which so far has been angst galore, btw), but hooray for getting started! With any luck, I'll be able to start posting it not toooo long after this fic is over.

Dean must have been a _saint_ in his last life. It’s the only logical explanation for being allowed to have Cas in this life, for being the first person Cas wanted to see when he got back from state finals last night, to the point that he asked Anna to drop him off at Dean’s house rather than his own.

Now they’re here, in Dean’s bed, Cas on his hands and knees because Dean wanted him like that, and Dean just doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve this.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice thready and low, “Dean, please.”

He’s _dripping_ , because Dean’s been taking his time working his way up and down the length of Cas’s body, kissing and licking and marking as much as he fucking wants, now that the high school swim season is over and Cas doesn’t have to worry about Jones getting on his case about marks and distractions. The scent of chlorine has long faded, replaced by Cas’s normal smell, sweet with arousal.

“Please what, Cas? What do you want?” Dean asks, pressing a long, openmouthed kiss to one of the dimples in Cas’s lower back.

“You know what I want,” Cas grits out, hips shifting restlessly.

Dean pulls away entirely, sitting back on his heels, and Cas whines in the back of his throat, sensing that there’s more distance between them now. A fresh wave of slick leaks out of his hole, bringing with it some more of that infernal, irresistible scent, and Dean can’t fight it, has to lean forward and taste it, sweet and tangy and friggin’ _perfect_.

Cas moans at the contact, at the broad swipe of Dean’s tongue across his hole, and Dean almost can’t decide what he likes more—the taste of Cas’s slick or the sounds Cas makes when Dean eats him out.

It’s been three and a half, almost four months since they mated, and Dean’s still not used to this, doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

“Dean—Dean, just fuck me—fuck me, _please_. Need you to fill me up, fill me up nice and good,” Cas begs even as he grinds back onto Dean’s tongue, because when he gets desperate like this, he’ll take anything he can get.

Shit, Dean’s desperate for it too, though. Just the thought that Cas isn’t in heat right now—that it’s safe for them to ditch the condom—has his cock twitching, because it’s just not the same, knotting when there’s a barrier between him and Cas. Sure, the clench around his knot is still amazing, but there’s the sense that something’s _missing_ , a sense of connection that isn’t _there_.

God, he can’t fucking wait to knot Cas, mark him up inside.

So Dean pulls back a little, coats his fingers with some of Cas’s slick, and jacks himself a few times, getting onto his knees and shuffling into position. Cas arches his back, presenting his hole, and Dean lets out a low groan, lining himself up.

He sinks in with one quick, hard snap of his hips, and Cas makes a bitten-off sound, pleased and relieved but muffled for Dean’s family’s sake.

“God, yes,” Dean murmurs before leaning forward to plaster himself along Cas’s back, kissing the back of his neck as he starts flexing his hips, pulling out and pushing in.

Cas turns his head a little, so Dean drags his lips to the side, up his neck, and over to meet his lips, a little awkward but worth it because he gets to feel Cas’s little huffs right up against his mouth, gets to drink them in and _know_ just how much Cas is loving this.

It doesn’t take long, both of them too impatient to reach the finish because it’s been over a week since they had a chance to knot bare. After maybe a dozen hard thrusts, Dean stills inside Cas, tying them together. Cas comes right afterward, grinding back on Dean’s knot and stifling his cry by biting down on his own wrist.

They collapse on the bed together, out of the wet spot, and Dean rubs slow, languid circles into Cas’s chest and belly as they come down. “Love you,” he mumbles.

“I love you, too,” Cas answers easily, and everything is right in the world.

* * *

As is usual on the first day of the week, Castiel feels a little miserable. But this particular Monday, he thinks that his discomfort isn’t solely mental—he’s a little bit off-balance all day, and his food doesn’t taste good, but he really can’t think of a reason for it, so he says nothing about it. His first thought is that Dean coaxed him into having a few drinks after prom… but that was Saturday and he felt fine yesterday, so that can’t be it.

Dean notices and asks about it when they’re in physics together, but Castiel says that everything’s fine, because he honestly has no reason to feel unwell. He rarely ever gets sick, a family trait that Michael has always been grateful for because they’ve saved a fortune on medical bills.

But in sixth period, Castiel rushes out of the classroom just in time to puke all over the bushes outside, and when Adam suggests that they get Anna out of class to drive him to the hospital, he doesn’t protest.

“Dude, you seemed fine all day. Was it something you ate?” Anna asks as they reach the hospital.

Castiel just waves the question away because he feels dizzy and weak, and the last thing he wants to do is think about what might be wrong with him, because that just makes a whole new round of nausea begin to set in.

They stay in the waiting area of the emergency room for a few minutes, and a doctor in a long, white coat comes out to see him. Anna and Adam are told to wait behind. Once in the exam room, the doctor asks Castiel a few questions about the regularity of his heats, whether or not he’s had these symptoms before, and then whether or not he is sexually active.

It’s a silly question, of course, because Dean’s scent lingers obviously on Castiel’s skin—they spend enough time together that it’s near impossible to rid themselves of each other’s scent, though Castiel cannot imagine why they would ever attempt that in the first place.

The next question is about whether or not they use protection, and Castiel starts to worry a little.

When the doctor takes out a pregnancy test, Castiel freezes up. “You don’t really think I’m—” he starts, disbelief practically radiating from his pores, but the symptoms make sense—dizziness, vomiting, the strange stomachache he’s been having all day—

“It’s possible,” the doctor says calmly. “Please step into the adjoining room and pee on the stick.”

* * *

Castiel returns to the waiting area half an hour later with fliers on how to handle a teen pregnancy, what to expect, a list of online resources, and then a list of abortion clinics in the state.

“Cas,” Anna says, getting to her feet.

Adam stands as well, and Castiel imagines that he must look shell-shocked, for them to be sporting matching looks of concern. He passes by a trashcan and immediately discards the list of abortion clinics, because he knows he could never kill his and Dean’s child, undeveloped fetus or not.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Anna asks.

The pamphlets get pulled out of Castiel’s hands, gently, and as Adam gasps, Castiel says, “I’m pregnant.”

“ _What?_ ” Anna yelps, louder than necessary, and Castiel winces a little. “Sorry,” Anna says, lowering her voice to normal volume. “Here, let’s talk about it in the car.”

Adam keeps the papers in one hand and holds onto Castiel’s with the other, following Anna out of the hospital and across the parking lot to the space where they’d parked the car.

Once inside, Anna demands, “How the hell did you manage to get yourself _pregnant?_ Haven’t you been making sure that Dean uses condoms?”

“The doctor said that the baby was conceived just over a month ago,” Castiel says quietly. “I wasn’t even in heat at the time—it shouldn’t have been possible—”

“You’ve seen the stats, Cas,” Anna says with a sigh. “It’s just—the odds of pregnancy are just very, very low outside of heats. It still happens. That’s where the 0.01% comes from.”

“Anna, please,” Adam says.

“I just—they say to _always_ use condoms for a reason,” Anna says.

“Well, it’s a little late to be saying that to me, don’t you think?” Castiel says sharply.

“Yeah,” Anna says. “Yeah, I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”

“I’m keeping it,” Castiel says.

“Are you sure about that?” Adam says. “I mean, it’s not just a joke. This is a small human you’re talking about, one that’s gonna be totally your responsibility.”

“I know what I’m talking about,” Castiel says.

Adam nods, and the car falls silent. Then Anna asks, “What’ll you tell Dean?”

“The truth,” Castiel answers.

But just the thought of breaking the news to his mate is terrifying, because Dean received his acceptance letter to UC Berkeley two months ago, and he’s been so excited to go, even if it means he’ll be separated from Castiel for about a year. The plan is for Castiel to make it into the same school so that they’ll be able to get an apartment together, but Castiel doesn’t know what will happen to those plans if he intends to keep the baby.

“Can you just keep it secret for now?” Castiel asks Anna and Adam. “I’ll tell him soon, I promise, but I just—I need to wrap my head around it. We hadn’t factored a baby into our plans for the future.”

“Maybe talk to Michael about it,” Adam suggests, resting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel nods. “I will. I’ll tell him when he gets home from work tonight, if Dean doesn’t come over.”

There’s another moment of silence, and then Anna starts the car and puts it in reverse. Castiel leans on Adam’s shoulder, closes his eyes, and tells himself that it’ll all be okay. He doesn’t know how Dean will react to the news, because they’d agreed that they didn’t want to have children until they were at least finished with college.

But Dean loves him. Dean loves him, so Castiel trusts that he’ll love their child, too.

* * *

“Soda?”

“What?” Dean says reflexively. He lifts his head and sees a can in front of him, Michael waiting for his response. “Oh. Ah, no. I’m good. Thanks.”

He turns his attention back to the paper in front of him and sighs. Dean’s always been good with numbers, calculations, that sort of stuff. But he’s supposed to be writing an essay for English, and it’s one of those prompts where he’s gotta explain a quote and then use literary examples to support or refute it, and he _hates_ this type of shit.

Meanwhile there’s Cas, who’s just awesome at every subject without even _trying_. Which isn’t really fair, because Cas _does_ spend a lot of time on schoolwork, but still—he just makes it look so goddamn _easy_.

Speaking of Cas, where _is_ he?

Michael settles down on the couch next to Dean and turns on the TV. “I can’t remember the last time there was so little work that Bobby let us go early,” he comments, flipping through the channels to look for something good.

“Yeah,” Dean says. Frowning, he puts down his pencil. “You got any idea where Cas is?”

“No. I usually assume he’s at Adam’s around this time of day,” Michael replies flippantly.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, looking down at the two paragraphs he’s already written. Before he can pick up his pencil to continue, he hears the front door opening and says, “Oh, that must be him.”

“You’re more eager than I am,” Michael comments, grinning.

“Oh, shut up,” Dean says, getting to his feet and going over to the hallway. He sees Castiel first, walking in with Adam and Anna, and smiles. “Hey, guys.”

“What’re you doing here? Don’t you have work?” Cas asks, coming over to Dean and kissing his cheek.

“Yeah, but Bobby let us off early.”

“Mm. I saw your car outside and thought it was strange.”

“Where were you guys?” Dean asks, looking over at Anna and Adam.

“I had a stomachache during sixth period—really, _really_ bad,” Adam says. “So I kinda asked Cas and Anna if they could go to the hospital with me.”

“Oh. You okay?” Dean asks, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. They gave me some painkillers and antibiotics and told me to try and sleep it off,” Adam answers readily.

“Dude, don’t just stand there, then—go home and sleep!” Dean says.

“I know,” Adam says a little indignantly, going back out the door. Anna trades a quick look with Cas before following Adam out, but Dean dismisses it—the three of them have been communicating through looks since elementary school, so it’s not strange for Anna and Cas to be exchanging glances.

“I talked to my parents, and they said I could stay over at your place tonight,” Dean says. “I know it’s a school night, so no funny business—I promise. I just wanted to sleep next to you, maybe cuddle a little. What do you say?”

Cas hesitates a beat before nodding, an adorable little smile stretching his lips. “I’d like that.”

“Okay, good,” Dean says.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t have a chance to be alone with Michael until just past eleven thirty on Tuesday night—he hears Michael moving around downstairs and gets out of bed, pulling on a sweater and fighting down a wave of nausea.

“What are you doing awake?” Michael asks sternly when Castiel gets to the living room. “I know for a fact that you have school tomorrow.”

“Michael, I have something to tell you,” Castiel says.

His seriousness must come across to Michael, because Michael just sits down on the couch and pats the spot next to him, eyes concerned. “Tell me,” he says.

Castiel takes a deep breath and sits down. “I’m pregnant.”

It’s quiet for one beat. Two. Castiel closes his eyes and waits for Michael to process the new information.

“What?” Michael finally says, voice low.

“I’m pregnant,” Castiel repeats.

“You’re—but haven’t you been—”

“Using condoms, yes,” Castiel says tiredly. “I already got the talk from the doctor, and from Anna. It’s pointless to tell me at this point, isn’t it?”

“Christ,” Michael breathes, leaning back on the couch. “Does Dean know?” he says to the ceiling.

“Not yet.”

“You’ll have to tell him—when you’re ready, of course,” Michael says.

“Of course,” Castiel echoes.

They sit in silence for a while, and Castiel squirms a little. He knows that it’s big news to take in, but doesn’t Michael have anything else to say to him? He feels like he needs advice, needs to be told what to do—his omega nature talking—but at the same time, he wants to be the one making the decisions.

“I assume you’re keeping it,” Michael says.

“Yes, of course.”

Michael nods and sits up a little straighter. “Well, this… this is a good thing,” he says, turning to Castiel with a small smile.

“It is?”

“Our family is going to grow by one. Another person to love and care for.”

“Another person to feed,” Castiel says, unable to meet Michael’s gaze.

“Hey. I’m perfectly fine with helping you and Dean raise the baby,” Michael says, putting a hand under Castiel’s chin and tipping it up so that he’s facing Michael. “And besides, we’ll have John and Mary to look after it too, and in a little over a year, Lucifer’s gonna be done with his residency, so he’ll have a more flexible schedule. We’ll make it work while you two are at Berkeley.”

“Berkeley?” Castiel echoes, disbelieving. “Do you really think I’ll even be able to apply to college? I’ll… I’ll be six or seven months pregnant when I’m supposed to be applying in the fall, and I don’t think—”

“You could wait a year, if it’d make you more comfortable,” Michael says. “We could take you out of high school next year, so that you can use your free time to get yourself a GED—you’re really smart, and it’d take you less effort than another full year of school.”

“Do you think they’d accept a high school dropout?” Castiel says, unable to help the little bud of hope sprouting in his chest.

“Sure,” Michael says. “You’d be given a chance to explain yourself, wouldn’t you? And Berkeley’s supposed to be very liberal—I’m sure they’d love an omega who chose to mate at such a young age, had an unexpected pregnancy, and decided to keep the baby _and_ go to college.”

Castiel huffs an incredulous laugh and leans into Michael when he spreads his arms in invitation. His brother’s arms wrap around him, and Castiel feels truly reassured about his situation for the first time since he walked out of the doctor’s office. He’d expected the disbelief and disapproval, but he hadn’t even _dreamed_ that Michael would be so supportive, that he’d gloss over the burden of having another mouth to feed so that he could make Castiel feel better.

“Thank you,” Castiel whispers when he pulls back, and Michael smiles again, small but genuine.

“Just doing my job, remember?” Michael says, and Castiel feels his eyes welling up as he smiles back. “Oh hey, hey, don’t cry,” Michael soothes, reaching one arm around Castiel to pat his back.

“I’m okay,” Castiel says, wiping at his eyes. “I’m just—being silly.”

“Don’t tell me the pregnancy hormones are setting in already,” Michael jokes, and they both laugh.

“Really, Michael,” Castiel insists, “thank you.” And this time, Michael just nods.

* * *

Castiel means to tell Dean the next day, but he has to go to swim practice, he tells himself. On Thursday, Mr. Turner assigned more homework than usual. But come Friday, Castiel knows that he can’t put it off any longer. The doctor said that the baby’s own scent would start blending into Castiel’s over the next week or so, and Castiel worries that Dean will scent it before Castiel has a chance to tell him.

So at five o’clock on Friday, instead of going to swim practice with Anna and Adam, Castiel goes to their tree in the park across the street from his house and sits down on the bench.

He sits there for a long time, almost half an hour, putting it off, before finally texting Dean that he has something important to tell him. Once the message is sent, Castiel shivers with anxiety. The nausea has mostly passed, only tends to hit in the mornings, especially around third and fourth period, which is fortunate because Dean is in neither class with him. He’s only thrown up one other time this week, which is a relief because it’s dreadful.

Castiel watches the leaves above him sway in the light breeze, and thinks about how easy his relationship with Dean has been so far. Perhaps it’s about time they ran into a speed bump, if only to test the strength of their bond.

Castiel isn’t sure how long he’s been on the bench when he feels a pair of familiar hands landing on his shoulders, a quick kiss dropped to the top of his head.

“What did you have to tell me, babe?”

Castiel gets to his feet, turns, and freezes at the expectant look on his mate’s face, because Dean—he really has no idea, and he isn’t gonna like this. They’re still  _teenagers—_

“Hey. Hey, calm down,” Dean says, stepping in closer, and how is it that Dean can smell Castiel’s distress so easily but can’t even notice that Castiel isn’t alone in this body anymore? “It’s okay,” Dean is saying, and Castiel just melts into him, taking the offered comfort.

“Dean, I _—_ I’m _—_ ”

But he can’t say it, so he just bring a hand up to cup the back of Dean’s head, pressing his face into the side of Castiel’s neck. Dean gives easily enough to his touch, and then he stiffens, giving off surprise and alarm.

“You _—_ ” he inhales again, as though to confirm it, and concludes, “ _—_ you’re  _pregnant_.”

Castiel nods dumbly, unsure what to say. “It’s yours,” is what he ends up saying, stupidly, as though there were any possibility that it could be someone else’s.

“No, I _—_ I know,” Dean says, and Castiel sniffs carefully, but he can’t get a read on Dean’s emotions anymore. “I... I need to think about this. Okay, Cas?”

Castiel nods, trying to ignore the horrible sinking feeling in his chest. It makes sense that Dean would want some time. They’re practically kids themselves, Castiel a junior and Dean graduating in two weeks, and as optimistic as Michael was about this, he’s had far more life experience than Dean has. It’s perfectly reasonable for Dean to need more time to digest this information, but Castiel cannot help the disappointment twisting in his gut at the realization that Dean isn’t ready to discuss it.

“But you _—_ you’re going to keep it, right?” Dean says, pulling back to look Castiel in the eye.

“Yes,” Castiel says. That much isn’t up for negotiation _—_ Castiel had decided as much about five minutes after the doctor broke the news to him.

“Okay,” Dean says, and he seems relieved. That’s a good sign, right? “I’ll uh, I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll get together for dinner, if you’re free.”

Castiel nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats. It looks like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it, and then he’s turning away from Castiel, heading toward the curb where his car is parked.

Castiel waits a moment, watching Dean until he gets into his car and drives away, before starting back across the park toward his house. And as he walks away from the park with their bench, their tree, their memories, he has a terrible, unshakable sense of foreboding.

* * *

It takes six or seven beers before Dean starts to really _feel_ it, leaning heavily against the bar and tapping the wood with the empty bottle in his hand.

“You really think you should be having another?” Victor says, frowning.

“Ah fine, maybe not,” Dean responds, setting the bottle down.

“You gonna tell me why we’re drinking, Dean? I haven’t had to ask Ash for a favor in… months.”

That much is true. Ash, Victor’s older step-brother, bartends at a place that is _not_ the Roadhouse, which means Dean and Victor can get drinks despite being under the drinking age. Dean was always the one who wanted to go drinking, though, and in the past few months—hell, almost a year—Dean’s had Cas, so he hasn’t had to come out here looking to get laid.

But tonight’s not about that.

Though there _is_ a very pretty brunette omega who keeps throwing him looks from down the bar.

“Dean?” Victor prods.

“Ash, gimme another drink,” Dean says in the general direction of the bartender.

“Comin’ right up!”

“No—Ash, he’s had enough for tonight,” Victor says, and Dean gives him a playful shove for being a party pooper. But Ash sets a new beer in front of him anyway, and Dean nabs it and twists the cap off before Victor can take it away from him.

“I think,” Dean says, “that that girl is giving me the green light.”

Victor follows his line of sight and says, “Maybe, but that girl is _not Cas_.”

“Oh god, Cas,” Dean mutters, shaking his head. Pregnant. _Pregnant_. How the hell did that even happen, anyway? Dean thought omegas didn’t get pregnant outside of heats.

“Dude, why are you saying his name like that?” Victor asks, concerned.

Dean shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Then a female voice says, “Hi there.” It’s the pretty brunette, smiling _very_ winningly at Dean.

“Hey,” Dean responds.

“Sorry, he’s had kind of a lot to drink, doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Victor says, tugging at Dean’s elbow. “I think it’s about time we left.”

“Get off me,” Dean says, shoving Victor’s hands away.

“He has a mate,” Victor tries.

“Dude. Leave me the hell alone,” Dean says, vision going red when Victor gets a hand around his wrist. Dean tries to shake him off, but it doesn’t work, so he takes a swing at him.

“Oh, hell no!” Victor barks, ducking Dean’s fist and backing up a step.

Dean turns to the brunette, but her attention is on Victor. “Don’t mind him,” Dean says, pulling her focus back on him.

“Dean, you don’t want to do this,” Victor says. “He has a mate, you know.”

“If he has a mate, then what’s he doing out here?” the girl says, stepping closer to Dean.

“He’s drunk out of his mind, but are _you?_ ” Victor says, sounding angry.

“Back off,” Dean nearly snarls at him when he comes closer, his alpha right at the surface and ready to attack.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Victor says, and then he throws his hands up. “Y’know what, I don’t have to deal with this shit,” he declares before stalking away from the bar.

Dean feels guilty for all of maybe five seconds, but then the brunette puts her hand on his arm and smiles. “I’m Tara. What’s your name?”

And there are probably a hundred, a _million_ reasons why Dean should just walk away, go apologize to Victor and then drive home, but damn it, he just doesn’t want to be sensible, doesn’t want to be responsible—hell, he _isn’t_ a responsible guy! How the hell can he be expected to raise a fucking child when he’s still a child himself? God, and he’s still got a future to think about—college, career, and _then_ kids. That’s always been the plan.

But he can’t make Cas get an abortion, knows that he can’t. Cas is beautiful and precious and perfect and wants to bring new life into the world, and Dean’s gonna fuck it all up. If Cas has to choose between Dean and the baby… god, Dean thinks he’d choose the baby. Fuck, he probably _should_ choose the baby.

Maybe it’d be better if Cas didn’t have to make that choice, if Dean made it for him.

So he chugs the rest of the beer that he just opened and slams it down on the bar, signaling to Ash that he’s heading out. Then he turns on the charm, grins, and says to Tara, “I’m Dean. Wanna get outta here?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think that these final chapters are a bit more heavy in Dean's perspective than Cas's, it's because I was originally intending to keep this entire series in Dean's perspective, and a little over half of this chapter was actually completed before I'd even started Chapter 1 of Written. It felt kinda important that the meat of this chapter come out of Dean's eyes anyway, though.
> 
> In other news, the six-year sequel-to-the-prequel is taking kind of a long time to write. I'm about 10k in, but it's still all in the first year, so I really don't know how much I'll have written by the time Keep on Rollin' is done posting. I'll keep you guys posted on tumblr.
> 
> One more thing, just about these last two chapters: please don't bite my head off.

Dean wakes up in the morning, and something feels off, wrong.

He rubs his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up, and then his brain catches up with his nose and tells him that there’s an intruder in his room. Looking over to his left, he finds that there’s an unfamiliar omega in his room, which— _shit_. Shit, shit, shit, he is screwed. So, so screwed. What the fuck was he even _thinking_ , taking her back to his place? God, he doesn’t even remember her name.

Dean hasn’t even had time to try to wake the girl up before there’s a light knock on his bedroom door.

“Dean? I just—I slept on it, and I decided we needed to talk.”

“ _Cas?_ ” Fuck, his voice is about three octaves higher than it should be. He leaps out of bed and casts around, grabbing a pair of sweats and tugging them on. “How’d you even get in?” Dean’s parents have been out of town all week because Grandpa Henry was in an accident, and Mom and Dad went to see him. Come to think of it, that’s probably why Dean got the bright idea of taking this girl home. _Fuck_.

“Sam let me in on his way out. He said he was going over to Amy’s house,” Cas replies matter-of-factly. The girl is waking up now, and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Dean is _dead_. “Um, Dean. Can I come in?”

“Wait—uh, hold on a sec—”

“What can you possibly have in there that I haven’t already seen?” Cas asks, sounding peeved.

Dean tugs the girl out of bed and shushes her when she tries to speak, throwing her clothes at her before pushing her toward the closet. But then the bedroom door swings open, and they both freeze.

Helpless to stop it, Dean watches as Cas’s expression goes from fond exasperation to incomprehension to bitter hurt in a matter of seconds, and fuck, this is like Dean’s worst nightmare times ten, twenty, maybe fifty thousand.

The omega looks between the two of them, mortification radiating from her, but her scent barely even registers with Dean because he’s too caught up in Cas’s pain, anger, confusion. “I’ll—I’ll just go,” the girl says, clutching her clothing to her chest and hurrying for the door.

Cas steps into the room to let her pass, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Cas,” Dean says, and his voice breaks a little. “Cas, I didn’t—” he stops, because it’s too late for denial, and fuck, Cas deserves better than that. “I’m sorry. I—I was drunk off my ass. Don’t know what I was thinking.” Cas is still quiet, so Dean continues, trying to fill up the silence, “Don’t think I _was_ thinking, actually. It didn’t mean anything, I swear.”

When Cas still says nothing, Dean stops talking too. They stand like that for a full minute, and Cas still won’t even look at Dean.

“Cas. Cas, say something,” Dean says, taking a tentative step forward.

Cas stiffens, and when he looks up, his eyes are filled with so much hurt that Dean flinches. “What do you want me to say, Dean?” he says, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Do you want me to say that it’s okay? That I don’t mind? That it’s in your nature as an alpha to just—”

“I’m not like that, Cas!” Dean breaks in, pained. “You know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” Cas says.

“I’m not—”

“Or maybe you should let me finish speaking so that I can get to what’s really on my mind, because you’re right—I _do_ know that you’re not one of those alphas,” Cas interrupts.

Dean says nothing to this, because fuck, he really, really screwed up here, and at least Cas is _talking_ now.

“If you didn’t want the baby,” Cas starts, and Dean’s head jerks up, because hey, he never said that, “you should have just said so. Hurting me like this… it was a coward’s act. And I—”

“Cas, I never said—”

“Then what was it, Dean?” Cas almost shouts, finally exploding. “Why exactly did you get ‘drunk off your ass’ last night, hmm?” he demands, throwing up air quotes as he speaks. “I know it was because of the baby. You don’t have to deny it.”

“No, Cas, I want you to keep it. I—”

“You just don’t want _us_ to keep it, is that it?”

“Cas, please—”

“No, I—I understand,” Cas says.

“But you don’t!” Dean argues, frustrated. “I do want the baby. For us. I just—I wasn’t sure we were ready, and I might have freaked out a little.”

“A _little?_ ”

“Okay, a lot. Just—I’m sorry.”

Cas takes a deep, shuddery breath. “I don’t know if I can trust you, Dean.”

“It was… it was _one time_ , Cas.”

“Oh, and that’s supposed to make me feel better? That you’ve only _cheated on me_ once?”

“I made a mistake, Cas. I’m sorry, okay?” Dean says, moving closer to his mate, hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Don’t,” Cas says, stepping back. “You can’t just—this won’t be okay just because you apologized.”

“What do you want from me, then? It’s not like I can go back in time and un-sleep with her,” Dean says, because really, what can he possibly do right now to fix this? God, he’d give anything for a time-travelling DeLorean right now.

Cas draws another deep breath and says, “Maybe we need to separate for a while.”

“What—Cas, no. No, we’re fine,” Dean protests.

“We’re obviously _not_ fine if you’re out sleeping with other people,” Cas says, eyes hard as he turns away from Dean. “And if you think this is fine, I don’t want to see what would qualify as a messed up relationship, in your eyes.”

Cas moves toward the door, and Dean can’t help it—he panics and blurts out, “You stay _right_ there.” Cas stops— _has_ to when Dean puts intent behind the command, and Dean says, “Cas, this isn’t—damn it, we can fix this!”

Cas turns around to face Dean, eyes wide with _fear_ , and it belatedly occurs to Dean that they’d talked about this, about their relationship as alpha and omega, and agreed that Dean wouldn’t ever take advantage of his influence over Cas.

“Fuck,” he curses, because even knowing he’s just screwed up even more, every instinct in his body is screaming at him not to let his mate leave this room. “Cas, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I just—”

“If you didn’t mean it, let me go now,” Cas says, voice ridiculously steady, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut, because the alpha inside him is rebelling, protesting, demanding that he show this insolent omega who’s really in charge here.

“Please don’t go,” Dean says, something breaking inside him at the thought of Cas walking out.

“I _can’t_ ,” Cas says stiffly.

Dean crosses the space between them, hands coming up to frame Cas’s hips, but Cas turns his head away when Dean goes to kiss him. Hurt lances through Dean’s chest at the rejection, and he buries his face in Cas’s neck instead, instinct telling him to seek comfort in his mate’s scent.

“Cas, let me make it up to you. I—”

“Why don’t you just _order_ me to do it and get this over with?” Cas says bitterly.

Dean draws back slightly, stung and angry about it, even if he deserves it, and his vision flicks red for a moment, anger fueling the alpha inside him. He moves around Cas and shuts his bedroom door, locking it as an afterthought.

“Dean, don’t do this.”

“Keep your mouth shut,” Dean snaps, and he isn’t sure whether it’s him talking or his alpha, but he doesn’t want to hear it anymore, doesn’t want Cas to keep asking to leave, because Cas is Dean’s, isn’t fucking _allowed_ to just leave like that.

Dean walks back around to Cas’s front and sees that his jaw is clenched, eyes tight. Dean doesn’t need to hear Cas’s voice to get the epic levels of _no_ that he’s projecting, but fuck it, what does Cas know? He belongs to Dean. They’re _mates_ ; Cas isn’t going anywhere— _can’t_ go anywhere.

Dean leans in and kisses him, ignoring the distress in the air and focusing on the mate-smell, as strong and irresistible as always.

A fist collides with the side of his head, and Dean stumbles to the side with the force of it.

The whole world _ripples_ then, goes deep red, and when Dean turns back, Cas is giving him a stern look, but Dean knows him, knows that his little bitch is only putting on a brave face because he can’t hide his scent, vulnerable and afraid.

Dean takes two steps over to his bitch and catches the fists that come at him before stepping forward, shoving Cas until his back hits the door.

“You _hit_ me,” Dean says, voice low.

He keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to look at Cas when he’s being so disobedient. Dean kisses him again, forcing his mouth open this time, and when Cas tries to turn his head away, Dean just moves with him, not letting their lips part. Cas struggles under his hands, squirming between him and the wall, and Dean’s hard now, slots one thigh between Cas’s legs and shifts even closer, craving more contact.

Then Dean catches a whiff of Cas’s arousal, just the slightest hint of his slick, a combination of cinnamon and vanilla and spice that makes Dean’s mouth water and his skin prickle with want, and god, _yes_ , how did he not think of this earlier?

He releases Cas’s straining hands and grabs his head instead, dragging it forward to press Cas’s nose into the base of Dean’s throat, where he knows his scent will be strongest. Cas makes a strangled sound in response, arms flailing, but Dean holds him there, doesn’t let him pull back.

“Just breathe, Cas,” Dean murmurs, because he knows that his voice will be calming to his mate—it’s a biological fact. “Take it easy. Just breathe, nice and deep.”

Cas whimpers, clutching Dean’s shoulders and inhaling deeply, and the smell of his want skyrockets. Sweet, sweet, triumph. Dean releases Cas’s head and presses him back into the wall, rocking their hips together.

“That’s it,” Dean says encouragingly, feeling Cas’s erection against his own, and yeah, they’re fine, they’re gonna be fine, and Cas is gonna forgive him, and everything’s gonna go back to normal.

But when Dean touches Cas’s face to pull him up for a kiss, his cheeks are wet, and Dean doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand, until Cas tilts his face up toward Dean. His cheeks are flushed, pupils dilated, and he’s practically panting with want—Dean can smell it on him, can smell the intoxicating sweetness of the slick that’s probably _dripping_ from Cas’s hungry little hole—but he’s also crying, tear tracks running down the length of his face, and Dean—

Dean _stops_.

The red filter falls away, and Dean staggers back, horrified. But Cas is still clinging to him, like he can’t help it— _because_ he can’t help it, fuck—and how—how did this happen?

“C-Cas,” Dean stutters, pushing gently at Cas’s shoulders.

A hysterical sob tears its way out of Cas’s mouth, and Dean feels it against his collar because Cas is still snuffling at his neck, needy and wanting, and Dean shoves him off forcefully.

“Stay the fuck still, okay?”

Cas’s shoulders are heaving, and they’re both hard, Cas still slick and ready for Dean, but Cas’s face is downturned now, like _he’s_ ashamed. But if anyone should be ashamed, it’s Dean. _He_ did this to them, to _both_ of them, without even thinking twice about it. If that’s not a sign that Cas would be better off without him, Dean doesn’t know what is.

He swallows and turns his back, because he doesn’t think he can watch Cas walk away. His inner alpha objects, rails against him, but Dean’s gotten it pinned down, chained up by the memory of Cas’s tears, sliding down his cheeks.

“You can go,” he finally says, lifting his influence from Cas, and he’s falling apart inside, breaking into little jagged shards.

When he turns back around a moment later, the door is open, and Cas is gone.

* * *

It takes about an hour to walk home from Dean’s house, but Castiel is grateful for it, for the time to calm down. His mind feels strangely blank, like he’s in shock, and when he reaches his house, he can’t bring himself to go inside, so he crosses the street to the park instead. He can’t bear to even look at their tree, so he chooses a different area of the park and sits at the foot of a tree, trying to regain equilibrium.

Castiel doesn’t know what to think, barely even knows what he feels. There’s an empty ache in his chest, muted terror at the thought that he’ll be facing the future without Dean. A large part of him wants to go back to him, wants to tell Dean that he forgives him and understands him.

But each time he thinks about going back, he remembers the moment he entered the room, remembers the marks that had been on Dean’s chest, marks that weren’t made by Castiel.

And then he feels the weight of Dean’s words, echoes of Dean’s hold on him, rooting his feet to the floor.

Binding his mouth closed.

He can still feel Dean’s hands on his head, holding him in place, forcing him to breathe in Dean’s scent, using their bond to his advantage even though he’d promised never to.

Dean _promised_.

Castiel doesn’t realize that he’s crying until a teardrop lands on the back of his hand, and he looks down, vision blurred. More tears slide down his cheeks, dropping on his jeans and shirt sleeves, and he closes his eyes, trying to stifle his sobs.

He presses both hands to his abdomen, thinking about the baby that’s growing inside him.

Oh how he wishes he could go back, do it over, insist on using condoms at all times. If it weren’t for the pregnancy, Dean wouldn’t have gone and done something so reckless, and the argument between them wouldn’t have gotten as heated as it did.

But he doesn’t know whether or not that’s the right way to think—who’s to say that they wouldn’t have come to this point eventually? If not the baby, maybe the distance after Dean went to college would have done them in. How much could Dean really have loved him if he was able to go out and sleep with someone else, if he was able to take back his word so readily?

At this last question, Castiel leans forward, curling in on himself and just letting the tears flow—holding them back is obviously a losing battle, and it’s better to break down out here than at home, where someone might catch him. Lucifer’s car isn’t in the driveway, but Gabriel finished his finals and came home a week ago, so he’s most likely at home right now.

He isn’t sure how long he stays outside, but after he’s done crying, he spends a long time making sure his eyes don’t feel puffy before going home. Gabriel seems concerned by his one-word answers but doesn’t press—he usually prefers to let Castiel go to him voluntarily, bless his soul.

So Castiel makes it into his bedroom and spends the day hammering out a research report for his U.S. History class, only going downstairs for lunch and then dinner with Gabriel, because skipping meals would categorize this as a Serious Situation, and Gabriel would feel the need to question him.

Castiel turns in nice and early, right around nine thirty, just to be sure that he won’t have to speak with Michael. But when the sun rises the next morning, he’s still awake.

* * *

Dean finds himself at a loss after Cas leaves. First, he strips his bed and shoves the sheets and covers into the washing machine, and then he goes back upstairs to take a shower.

Predictably, it doesn’t make him feel any better. When he gets out, he’s still confronted by his own lying, cheating face in the mirror, and it takes a whole lot of self-control not to throw a punch at his reflection, shatter the mirror so that maybe his reflection would be a little more accurate.

He manages to dry off and get out of the bathroom without breaking anything. Back inside his room, he sits down on his bed for a long time, staring into space.

Is there any way to fix this? If he apologized—if he groveled—would Cas take him back?

Dean honestly can’t remember—can’t even _imagine_ —what was going through his head last night, what possessed him to take that girl home with him. He remembers going out to get drinks with Victor, and maybe he remembers catching that girl looking at him once or twice, but he never would’ve—fuck, maybe before Cas he would’ve picked her up, but… but _last night?_

Victor was with him, Dean recalls suddenly, and wonders if he might’ve said anything to him.

Grabbing his cell phone, Dean sends a text to Victor, asking to meet up. His friend’s response is almost immediate, saying that he’s home alone at the moment and that Dean is free to come whenever he’s ready. Dean fires back a text for Victor to expect him in maybe twenty minutes before going to get dressed.

He leaves the house ten minutes later, shoving his sheets into the dryer before rushing out. Another ten minutes after that, he pulls up outside Victor’s house. To his dismay, Jo is the one who answers the door.

“Well hello there, Dean. How nice of you to join us,” Jo says.

“What’re you doing here?” Dean asks as he walks past her.

“Oh, nothing much. Just listening to Victor’s story about what happened at the bar last night,” she answers, closing the front door and locking it.

Dean finds Victor reclining in an old armchair, eyes closed. “Dude, not cool,” he says.

“Hey, we all agreed on no secrets,” Victor says.

“So tell me, how does it feel to cheat on your one true love?” Jo asks as she takes a seat on the couch, tone positively icy.

Dean clenches his jaw. “I didn’t—”

“Oh, yeah, because we’re gonna believe _that_ ,” Jo interrupts, glaring at him.

“Well—Victor should have stopped me!” Dean tries.

“I tried!”

“Obviously, you didn’t try hard enough.”

Victor’s eyes snap open, and he leans forward in his chair, staring Dean down even though Dean’s standing and he’s still seated. “Sure, maybe I could have tried harder. But you can’t blame _me_ for your mistake, Dean. _You’re_ the one who made it.”

Jo sighs. “What the hell were you even thinking, Dean? Did something happen between you and Cas? Does Cas know what happened?”

“One question at a time,” Victor chides, still angry-looking. “Start with whether or not Cas knows.”

“He knows,” Dean says.

“Well, that’s shitty. How’d he take it?” Jo says.

“How do you think? Not well,” Dean snaps.

“ _Hey_ , don’t get snippy with me, Dean. I’m not the one who just cheated on his mate,” Jo says sharply. And then she asks, “But is he—is he _okay_ , at least? What’s the situation now?”

“We’re over.”

Open shock shows on both faces, and Dean has to look away.

“What—just like that,” Victor says, disbelieving.

“You _really_ need to go apologize. Like, on your knees, begging. Flowers and everything. Hell, roll over and let him bite you a couple times,” Jo says.

“I think he really wouldn’t want to see me right now,” Dean says quietly, and _something_ must come across in his voice, or maybe his expression, because Jo and Victor go quiet again.

“Talk to us,” Victor says. “You never told me why you wanted to go drinking last night, just said some bullshit about how it’d been so long since we last went. What happened?”

Dean turns away from his friends and walks over to the fireplace, one that’s pretty much never been used, in Dean’s recollection. He looks down at the bricks lining it, discolored over time, and fuck, once he says this, Jo and Victor are gonna think the worst of him. He’ll have lost Cas _and_ his friends.

“Dean,” Jo urges, and she actually sounds worried now, which is _really_ surprising, considering she’s definitely still mad at him.

“Yesterday, I found out that Cas, uh. That Cas is—” Dean takes a deep breath, lets it out in a rush, and finishes, “pregnant.” Jo and Victor don’t comment immediately, and when Dean turns around, they don’t react, possibly too shocked by the news. So Dean goes on, “I just—I wasn’t thinking straight, and I thought I needed to have a drink or something, because I was kinda freaking out. And then I was drunk, and that girl was just— _there_ , and I—”

“No, hold on,” Jo says, shaking her head and getting to her feet. “ _Pregnant?_ ”

“Yeah, I’m still stuck on that, too. He’s—how far along is he?” Victor asks. “I certainly hadn’t noticed.”

“I don’t know,” Dean answers. “I—god, I didn’t even think to ask. I don’t think he can be much more than a month in, though. I scented him yesterday, and I could just barely catch a whiff of—of—fuck.”

“Oh, god,” Jo groans. “He told you that he was pregnant, and you immediately went out and cheated on him. Dean, how _could_ you?”

“Look, it didn’t—it wasn’t as though I meant for it to happen!”

“But you must have known that you were gonna be having kids with Cas. I don’t understand why that freaked you out so much,” Jo says.

“Obviously I knew we were gonna have kids, but I figured that it was gonna be, y’know, in the _future_. Not _now_. Not when I’m heading off to college and he’s still gonna be in friggin’ high school, and—”

“If you really loved him, none of that would matter,” Jo says, coming closer to Dean.

“Hey, now that’s not fair,” Victor protests. “Those are legitimate considerations.” Jo opens her mouth to argue, but Victor heads her off by saying, “I’m not trying to excuse his actions. Cheating on Cas was clearly the wrong way to go, no matter how you look at it. But you can’t dismiss his feelings for Cas just because he was thinking about their futures.”

Jo shakes her head. “But he would have put Cas first and thought about that kind of stuff later. They’re _kind_ of a mated couple, Victor.”

“Can you two not talk about me like I’m not here?” Dean says. “And besides, I don’t uh, I don’t think we’re really a couple, anymore.”

“Shit,” Victor breathes, as though Dean didn’t just tell them like five minutes ago that he and Cas were over. “Oh shit, no, that’s—you can’t let him leave you just like that.”

Jo nods in agreement. “He’d be an unmated, pregnant omega. That’s—can’t you see how bad that would be for him?”

“Dude, I thought you were above all that,” Dean says.

“Don’t start with me,” Jo says, reaching over to smack Dean’s shoulder. “You know I’d be perfectly fine with it. But that doesn’t mean _society_ would be. He’d be an outcast. Hell, back in the 1600s, he probably would have been killed for keeping a child without an alpha to lord over him, whether or not the baby was conceived within a mating bond.”

“It’s not the 1600s anymore, Jo,” Victor says gently. But he turns back to Dean and says, “Still, it’ll be really hard for Cas if you don’t—”

“Look, I’m the one who fucked up, okay? I just—he wouldn’t want me anymore. He _doesn’t_ want me. It doesn’t matter what I say. He and I are split up, and that’s—that’s it.” Except they don’t even know the whole story, don’t know what Dean almost did. He’ll tell them, eventually, but he just can’t right now.

It looks like Jo and Victor want to say something, but there’s really nothing to say, is there?

Dean had it all, and he screwed it all up. The end.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally just got outta the shower, and hey, it's midnight! So here's the final chapter for you guys. Thanks for sticking through this car-crash-in-slow-motion, angstfest of a fic. You're all awesome and I love you:)

To Dean’s utter surprise, Cas looks completely normal on Monday. He takes his usual seat in calc, and Dean has to force himself not to take his customary seat behind him, dragging Jo away to sit in the back of the room. Victor almost misses them when he comes in.

At lunch, Anna, Adam, and Uriel look extremely confused when Dean, Victor, and Jo sit down away from them, which—how the hell has Cas not just up and told them everything, yet?

But Dean keeps his head down, and Victor and Jo are quiet, too. Halfway through lunch, Jo leaves the table because she has to spend at least a little time with Anna, and Dean and Victor are joined by Nancy, who keeps casting questioning looks in Dean’s direction.

Physics is just about as awkward as calc was, and after getting outta there, Dean realizes that he’ll be spending the next three hours in the company of Cas’s _very_ protective older brother. Yet everything seems fine when Dean gets to Singer Auto, and Michael even smiles at him. It’s not forced, not faked—Michael _doesn’t fucking know_.

What the hell is Cas even doing, keeping this a secret? Why?

But Dean isn’t about to tell Michael that something’s wrong. It’s Cas’s choice when to talk to his family about what’s happened between him and Dean.

When Dean picks Sam up at four fifty, Sam’s dragging his feet. It’s enough to distract him for a few minutes, but when he finds out that it’s just because Amy’s moving out of town, Dean expresses his condolences and dismisses it—he had crushes at that age, and they only took a couple weeks to get over, tops. What Dean’s just lost with Cas… that was irreplaceable.

Sam asks to be dropped off at Amy’s, so Dean obliges, telling him that he’ll be back in a couple hours to take him home for dinner.

He pulls into the driveway next to Mom’s car, a signal that his parents have returned from their trip to see Grandpa Henry. Or that Mom has, at the very least. Dean considers keeping this from her, but shit, he doesn’t think he can. She’d know immediately that he was hiding something, and it wouldn’t take her longer than a day or two to figure out that he wasn’t talking to Cas anymore.

So when he goes into the house and finds Mom in the living room, he turns off the TV and pulls her into the kitchen, sitting her down at the table and taking the seat across from her.

“What, Dean? Did you and Sam break something of John’s while we were gone?” she asks, bemused.

“No, Mom. I… I broke something else.” He can’t go on, so he’s grateful when a sudden look of understanding crosses Mom’s face.

“What happened between you and Cas?” she asks softly.

“I fucked up,” Dean says, voice shaking a little.

“Calm down,” Mom says, resting a hand over his. “Just tell me what happened.”

Dean takes a moment before leading off with, “Cas is pregnant. I uh, I did something—something really stupid after he told me about it, and then Cas found out what I did, and we got into a fight, and… I might have used my influence over him.”

Mom’s eyes narrow immediately. “What did you order him to do?”

“I almost forced him to have sex with me,” Dean admits in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“But you didn’t go through with it,” Mom says tightly.

“No.”

Mom is visibly relieved at how readily Dean responds, and after a moment, she says, “He’s pregnant, and you… not only cheated on him, but also used your influence on him.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, ashamed. “I don’t know how I’m ever gonna tell Dad.”

“You leave that to me. He and I have had our share of problems,” Mom says. Her eyes rest on Dean’s for a long moment, and then she says, “You know that John and I split up for almost a year, when you were two years old.”

Dean nods. “Adam was conceived during that year,” he recalls.

“Yes,” Mom says. “We never tried to hide that fact from you, but I don’t think I ever told you why John and I separated in the first place.” When Dean shakes his head, she says, “It was… oh, it was a combination of things. He was stressed out by his job, I was stressed out because I was working part-time while looking after you, and one night, he came home smelling like someone else. It was a slap in the face, and I kicked him out right then.

“We talked about it later, of course, and agreed that he could visit you, but we wanted to see as little of each other as possible. Your father stayed mostly single throughout that year, but I started dating another man, and I almost thought that I’d spend the rest of my life with him instead, but… well, obviously that didn’t work out. And then there was one night when I was dropping you off with John, and we may have gotten a little drunk and started reminiscing about the good times, and…”

She trails off, and Dean can’t help but cringe a little at the thought of his parents having sex, because depressed and heartbroken or not, that will always be a disturbing thought.

“Anyway, that was how Sammy was conceived,” Mom says. “And then John and I chose to get back together, because it’d be better for the two of you in the long run. And because I realized he’d grown a lot in the time that we’d spent apart.”

“But you guys were only apart for a year, right? How much could Dad have grown in a year?” Dean asks.

“You’d be surprised,” Mom replies, and then she shakes her head. “Don’t distract me. Dean, your situation is obviously different from mine, but… well, you and Cas need to talk. You need to calmly and openly discuss what happened between you and what your options are for the future.”

“I don’t think—”

“You need to give Cas the choice between coming back to you or staying away from you. It is a decision that he has the right to make for himself.”

“He’ll choose to stay away,” Dean says. “I promised that I’d never do that to him, and I still—”

“I don’t care what _you_ think he’ll choose, Dean,” Mom says sternly. “My point is that you need to actually go to Cas. You need to face him, now that you’ve calmed down, and apologize. You need to tell him that you still want him _and_ the baby—that you still want a life together.”

“Mom…” Dean starts, but his voice fades because he doesn’t know what to say.

“That _is_ what you want, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Dean confirms. “God, I regret everything that I did so much.”

“Then _tell him_. Regret won’t help, Dean—talk to him,” Mom insists. “But it is ultimately his choice—you need to make that _very_ clear to Cas when you go to him, and then you need to give him some time and space to think about it. What you did was a _very_ serious breach of trust, but trust can be rebuilt, can be earned back. Your father and I were on pretty shaky ground for a while after we got back together, but we’re solid now. And the connection between you and Cas… it’s really something special. I’d hate to see it end like this.”

Dean nods. “I’ll… I’ll talk to him after school tomorrow, then,” he decides.

“Good,” Mom says. “Now, tell me what you’ve done with Sammy.”

She says it so seriously that Dean barks out a surprised laugh. He explains that Sam is at Amy’s house because she’s leaving town, and Mom sighs, says that she was such a sweet girl. Then she gets up to make spaghetti and meatballs, because that’s Sam’s favorite, so it’ll hopefully cheer him up some when he gets back.

Dean just heads upstairs, thinking about how lucky he and Sam are to have her for a mom.

* * *

Gabriel finally tires of waiting and attempts to question Castiel on Monday evening, after he returns from swim practice. Castiel dodges his questions and locks himself in his room, only coming out to take a shower before hiding again, determined to drag this out. He just—isn’t ready to face a reality in which he and Dean will _really_ have nothing to do with each other, and telling his family will make it all final.

But when Castiel sees Michael’s car parked outside the house after school on Tuesday, he freezes, because there’s no other reason he can think of for Michael to be skipping work at the shop.

Yet he doesn’t see Michael in the living room, and when he takes a peek into the master bedroom, he finds it empty. Odd. He goes upstairs, only to find that the door to his room is closed, and well, he probably should have expected it—leave it to Michael to wait for Castiel in his room, taking away his best hiding place.

Bracing himself, Castiel pushes the door open and walks past Michael where he’s perched on Castiel’s bed. “Hello,” Castiel says as he drops his backpack to the floor, shrugs off his jacket, and hangs it on the back of his chair. “I didn’t expect you to be home, today. Did Bobby give you the day off?”

“Stop acting like everything is fine,” Michael says. “It’s insulting and irresponsible, and I will not have it.”

Castiel looks at his brother, surprised by the seriousness in his voice. He must be here because Gabriel talked to him, but Castiel cannot imagine what Gabriel must have said to put this severity on Michael’s face. “Michael, I _am_ fine.”

“ _Don’t_ lie to me,” Michael says. Castiel can feel the compulsion to follow an alpha’s orders—an alpha in the family, even, but that control is not absolute, and Castiel can still disobey if he wants to.

But he’s exhausted, feels a little bit like crying, and Michael’s shoulder looks very inviting right now.

“It’s Dean,” he says finally. “I told him about… about me being pregnant, and he… didn’t take it well.”

“What did he say?” Michael asks, concerned. He doesn’t seem surprised, but Castiel supposes he may have guessed as much already, by this point.

“He…” Castiel teeters on the line between truth and lies, difficult even now to speak against his own alpha. The alpha who was never, ever supposed to hurt him. The alpha who’d promised never to take advantage of him. The alpha he’d trusted.

“Castiel, please tell me.”

“You have to promise me that you won’t go after him,” Castiel says. “We’ve already ended our relationship, and he did no lasting damage to me.”

“ _Damage?_ ”

“Michael, please,” Castiel says desperately, grabbing onto his brother’s forearm to keep him from storming out of the room. “ _Promise_ me that you won’t go after Dean. I can’t—I don’t think I would be able to forgive you if you hurt him.”

Michael nods jerkily, but when Castiel only looks at him expectantly, he sighs heavily and says, “Fine. I promise I won’t hurt Dean. Now, tell me what he did to you.”

Castiel just needs to say it quickly, get it over with. “He cheated on me. I caught him the morning after, and when I tried to leave, he compelled me to stay, and nearly—nearly—”

Michael’s hands ball into fists, and Castiel tightens his grip on his brother’s forearm, reminding him silently of his promise. At length, Michael nods and backs up to sit down on the bed, motioning for Castiel to join him.

“He didn’t actually do it,” Castiel says as he sits, and Michael just shakes his head.

“It doesn’t suddenly make him a better person, the fact that he managed to stop himself from _raping_ you,” he says. “God, I want to rip him limb from limb.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m only being honest. If it were up to me, I’d make it so he’d never walk again,” Michael says viciously.

“Please just stop.”

“No, Castiel,” Michael says. “I just—I’m _angry_. There’s a reason why I told you not to mate so young, to be more careful with Dean.”

Castiel’s a little surprised that Michael would bring that up now, so he says, “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not—” Michael starts to protest, but he just shakes his head again, as though he’s recalibrating to reach a calmer state. “Look, I just want you to be more careful from now on.”

And that’s—well, that’s almost _funny_. “It isn’t as though I can mate again,” Castiel says.

“There are other choices available to you,” Michael says. “You can still live a happy life. We’ll help you with the child. And you can still marry.”

That _is_ funny, and Castiel can’t help but laugh, though the sound makes Michael wince. “I’ll be a single, once-mated, _used_ , omega with a child,” Castiel says, ignoring Michael’s request for him to stop. “No one in their right mind would ever want me,” he finishes.

When Castiel meets his brother’s eyes, he is startled by the pain he sees. “Cas,” Michael says, unsteady. “Cas, you’ll find someone. Someone who deserves everything that you have to give.”

There’s no possible way for Castiel to _not_ cry after that, because he has nothing to give, and he tells his brother as much, eyes welling up. Why would anyone want someone who has nothing to give?

Michael folds Castiel into his arms, rocking him back and forth gently, and Castiel cannot remember the last time he was held like this, safe and warm, Michael’s scent a balm against the raw ache that Castiel feels all over, the wrongness of Dean’s prolonged absence.

“I know you miss him,” Michael says softly, and Castiel can’t believe his voice can sound so tender, talking about someone he wanted to pummel only minutes ago. “It’s likely that part of you will always miss him. But you’ll learn to live with it. You’ll adapt, and you’ll be okay. We’ll be with you, every step of the way.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

“Anything for you, Castiel,” Michael responds.

Castiel closes his eyes and inhales deeply, slowly. It isn’t the scent that he wants—isn’t _Dean_ —but he knows that Michael will always love him, take care of him. And while Castiel will have to stand on his own two feet in the near future, he can allow himself to be carried for the time being, just for a little while longer.

* * *

Dean can’t help but feel anxious, standing at the front door to Cas’s house, waiting for someone to answer. When the door finally opens, Dean is disappointed—not surprised, but disappointed anyway—to see Gabriel in the doorway.

“Dean,” he says. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“I wanted to uh, to talk to Cas,” Dean says.

“After what happened? I don’t think that’s such a good idea, so soon,” Gabriel says.

“What did Cas tell you?”

Gabriel frowns. “I don’t think you have the right to be asking what Cas may have told us. But he didn’t say anything all yesterday _or_ the day before, and he hasn’t said anything yet today. Michael’s probably going all alpha on his ass right now, trying to get him to start talking. But we’re not stupid—we’ve figured out that it’s got a hell of a lot to do with you, and boy, if I didn’t know what it would do to my baby bro, I would be tearing you a new hole right now, you got me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hear you. I just—can I talk to him?”

Gabriel looks doubtful, but he says, “Only if he wants to hear it.” With that, Gabriel retreats into the house. “Well? Come in.”

Dean nods and steps inside. He takes his shoes off and follows Gabe down the familiar hall, through the living room, and up the stairs, but they slow down as they get closer to the door to Cas’s room, and then Dean hears it.

“Please just stop.” That’s Cas’s voice.

“No, Castiel. I just—I’m angry,” a voice says, and Dean recognizes it as Michael’s. “There’s a reason why I told you not to mate so young, to be more careful with Dean.”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Castiel says, and Dean comes to a stop, unable to go any closer.

“I’m not—look. I just want you to be more careful from now on.”

“It isn’t as though I can mate again,” Cas says quietly, and yeah, this thing between them is _permanent_. How on earth they’re gonna get through this, Dean has no idea. But he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to fix the problem between them, not the way Mom and Dad were able to get back together.

“There are other choices available to you,” Michael says. “You can still live a happy life. We’ll help you with the child. And you can still marry.”

Cas laughs, a broken, bitter sound, and says, “I’ll be a single, once-mated, _used_ —”

“Don’t say that,” Michael hisses, but Cas just goes on—

“—omega with a child. No one in their right mind would ever want me.”

“ _Cas_ ,” Michael says, his voice shaking a little, and Dean never thought he’d hear Cas’s eldest brother get that emotional. “Cas, you’ll find someone. Someone who deserves everything that you have to give.”

“I have nothing left to give,” Cas says, and Dean wishes he could go in there and kiss away all of Cas’s doubts, reassure Cas that he wants him, will _always_ want him, but… but he can’t. Not with Michael there, because Michael would throw Dean out on his ass. And besides, Cas probably wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t want him anyway, not after what he did.

Then Dean can smell Cas’s tears, and it’s hard to hold back, to stay in the hallway and let Michael take care of Cas when it should be Dean in there, holding him close and vowing never to let him go. Instead, he takes one step back toward the staircase, followed by another, and then another. Faintly, he hears Michael saying something in a reassuring tone, but he just can’t stay here a moment longer.

When Gabriel notices that Dean is backing off, they go back downstairs together. After stepping back into his shoes, Dean pauses on the doorstep for a moment. When he turns back, there’s something almost like pity in Gabe’s eyes, so Dean quickly averts his gaze, because he doesn’t think he can take it—doesn’t think he _deserves_ it, to be honest, because Gabriel still doesn’t know what he did.

“Don’t tell him I came,” Dean says, eyes on Gabriel’s knees, and then he turns and hurries away from the house before Gabriel can respond.

And it hurts— _god_ , does it hurt—but what Michael said to Cas about his future… it’s not perfect, but it’s probably better than anything Dean could give him. Cas is attractive and funny and smells like Heaven, and he deserves someone who’ll treat him right, someone who can keep their promises.

It had stung when Cas said he didn’t trust Dean, but fuck, Dean doesn’t even think he trusts himself anymore. He’d thought that he could never hurt Cas, could never do anything that would make Cas unhappy, but he’s proven himself so, so wrong.

So the only thing for him to do now is to let Cas live his life.

* * *

Two weeks later, Dean walks at graduation, and Cas isn’t there. And then, another eleven weeks after that, Dean sits down for his first lecture in Wheeler Hall, almost two thousand miles away from Cas.

And well… that’s all she wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, I have not worked on pinkverse much in the five days since Ch. 11 (too busy working on Reapers, and then recovering from working on Reapers, in case you were wondering), but I shall hopefully have a planned posting date for the third pinkverse fic soon! I'll be updating the notes on this series now and then, but you can always check the pinkverse tag on tumblr for posts about my progress.
> 
> I received a few comments on the previous chapter that seemed a bit confused as to what the third installment will be, so to clarify: it will be a look into what happened in the six years (and two months) starting at the end of this fic and ending at the beginning of Written.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I'll be back with more soon. Hopefully.


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